


Tahanan

by NoHappyEnding, unfinishedpages



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, M/M, NHE2017, no happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-23
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-03-22 22:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 41,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoHappyEnding/pseuds/NoHappyEnding, https://archiveofourown.org/users/unfinishedpages/pseuds/unfinishedpages
Summary: As Jongin moves from city to city, from one country to another, he finds a home from a boy named Kyungsoo who kept his heart in the desert.Tahanan (Filipino)- Noun- Home.Loosely based on a true story





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** Selfprompt  
>  **Pairing/Main character(s):** Kai/D.O.  
>  **Word count:** 41,365  
>  **Rating:** PG-13  
>  **Warning(s):** Mentions of self-harm, mental illness, and character death  
>  _Minor spoilers for the books History Is All You Left Me and Call Me By Your Name._
> 
>  **Author's note:** While I have researched everything to the best of my ability, there may still be some discrepancies. Any similarities to any real-life persons is purely coincidental. Some of the places mentioned are true and real cities, places and establishments in the country, and I have used their names for the story's sake only. 
> 
> Addendum: Fridays and Saturdays in the GCC are considered as the weekends, just to clarify any future confusions.

 

 With the crunch of rubber against gravel and dull jolt of the cabin making his stomach jump, Jongin breathed a sigh of relief. Nearly fifteen hours between borders, and finally it has come to an end for the meantime. As he double checked his seat for any stray belongings, a disembodied voice made its way in the cabin while Jongin took in the familiar lights outside of the window.

 

_“Emirates Flight number 827 bound for Dammam from Dubai has now landed at King Fahad International Airport. The ground temperature is seventeen degrees Celsius and the local time is ten thirty pm. Thank you for flying with us, and we hope to see you again.”_

Smiling at the flight attendant that helped him pull his carry-on baggage out the overhead bins, Jongin breathed in slow as he stood along the aisle, waiting for the tight line of excited passengers and some sullen expatriates who seem to be desperately homesick to trickle out of the cabin, squinting his eyes to protect them as he boarded the bus to the airport.

 

At the sight of the marble building through the glass of the bus, a wave of nostalgia crashed at his feet as he set foot in the desert again, and it was as if it was greeting him back with the strong gust of cold wind that blew across the runway when he stepped out of the vehicle.

 

He would complain as to why KFIA doesn’t use the tubes that connect to the airport immediately as he walked at a snail’s pace behind the crowd, but at this point, he just wanted to get through immigration as soon as he can. Some Arabs had a habit of getting carried away in conversations sometimes that they forget their work, but he was lucky enough that he managed to line up with one who could spark some loud banter with the desk beside him but still get through the queue.

 

The guttural grind of Arabic words floated through the relatively quiet marble clad room, mingling with the tired murmurs of the passengers and the sharp call of immigration marshals guiding the passengers promptly into organized queues. Jongin was met with the realization that he missed it; the sound of Arabic, all the throaty consonants and harsh vowels, even if the only things he knew how to say was “ _I don’t speak Arabic_.”

 

Ironic.

 

Jongin wished he had actually learned Arabic properly in his near twenty-year life in Saudi Arabia, the language and its script were beautiful after all, but all he learned was cuss words courtesy of his friends in primary. Maybe if he did learn another language, he may shake off the overwhelming sense of mediocrity out his system.

 

Even if he was already bilingual.

 

After the immigration officer looked at his visa and signaled for Jongin to scan his index fingers, he was finally able to claim his luggage and get out to the waiting area to be greeted by his parents. With years of travelling between Seoul and Dammam, he knew the cadence of requirements like it was the back of his hand.

 

Immigration.

 

Haul his baggage off the carousel.

 

Customs.

 

Get through the throng of employers, family members and other people crowding at the arrivals door.

 

Maybe wait if his parents were running a little late, but it seems like this time, he didn’t need to.

 

Jongin was barely three steps out of the doors when his mother spotted his unruly head of hair and exhausted face immediately, running as best she could without tripping over her abaya, which he noted was new due to the unfamiliar pattern on the silky fabric. With her excited chatter as she wrapped her arms around him and his father’s deep chuckles, the fact that he was finally home had sunk in.

 

He had half expected that his parents would bring an entire village just to fetch him from the airport—a little bit of an exaggeration, yes—but he saw one of his father’s coworkers and long-time family friend wave at him as he and his family walked back to him.

 

“Jongin! _Kumusta*?_ Your mom told me about to graduate college soon.” Jongin had grinned back at the man who clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m good, _tito,_ but I still have a semester left.” He replied, remembering the sprinkling of Filipino he had retained growing up. This was Noel, the youngest of the engineers in the firm his father had been working at for decades now, and the one he got closest to.

 

The older man had sparked a conversation with him as they walked back to his father’s car, helping him load his luggage at the compartment. “Do you have a girlfriend now?” He had asked, a mischievous smile on his face, rolling the softer English consonants harder on his tongue.

 

 Jongin had merely shook his head, smiling. “No, _tito,_ I still haven’t had any girlfriends.” He briefly wondered what would his reaction be if he had said that he’s only had boyfriends up to this time. The youngest was trying hard to be sociable, but he had spent nearly fourteen hours in between three airports and his exhaustion was getting the better of him.

 

He hoped _Tito_ Noel would understand if he chose to be an antisocial teenager for the rest of the ride.

 

When he had leaned back into the seat, it was as if all his remaining adrenaline had dropped and pure exhaustion and fatigue had replaced it. The conversation in the car had broken the hazy spell of sleep momentarily, but it had won through and he was pretty much knocked out cold for the whole thirty-minute ride from the airport to their apartment building, head leaning against the cold glass of the car window.

 

He had only woken up when they were already about to go up, already groggy from that short nap as he stepped out the car and stared up the building his family had lived in for as long as he can remember. The landlord would always have the exteriors repainted white every year, but with the sand storms rolling in when the climates changed, it would get stained a dull beige that was intensified by the strong orange tinge of the streetlights.

 

Jongin smiled softly, it was like nothing had changed every time he came back here. Time seemed to rewind, making him feel fifteen and awkward again.

 

Running a hand through his hair, he let out a deep sigh as if the thickness in his throat and sinking stomach could be remedied by exhaling whatever emotion he was feeling at the moment. He really should be happy; his family was here, and he was minutes away from his childhood home. Whatever it was he was feeling, it wasn’t nostalgia. It was something more that made the sinking feeling in his stomach worse.

 

Closing his jacket and burying his hands in his pockets to at least try to take his mind out of the random gutter it had sunk under, Jongin huffed and walked into the building again with his bags in tow. The kingdom was finally reaching its short winter season with the drop of temperature and cooler gusts of wind, and it was safe to say he preferred this compared to Seoul’s whiter winters. Noel had tapped him on the shoulder and waved. “Hey Jongin, let’s catch up tomorrow. Rest well.” To which he nodded.

 

One thing he hated in this building was the elevator, that obviously being a smaller building, it had small elevators that always seemed like the bulbs were about to blow out any minute. It felt strangely claustrophobic, especially with all the bags. The jingling of keys caught his attention though, his mother smiling at him. “Someone else is really excited to see you.” Once the metallic clink of the keys chimed into the house, barks erupted from the other side of the door.

 

A little furball had cautiously approached him, sniffing the air but when he recognized Jongin, the now older pup was still as lively as he jumped up and down, unable to contain the excitement of smelling someone very familiar. Jongin had almost forgotten the gnawing in the pit of his stomach when his dog gnawed on the laces of his shoes. “Hey Batman! I missed you too! Have you murdered all my socks again?”

 

After a few ( _many_ ) minutes of playing with the overexcited dog, he had managed to calm him down and carry him back to his crate, and to avoid being scrutinized by his parents immediately about his academics, he retreated to his room. His boring, old room.

 

No, it was really boring. The white paint was starting to peel off in the far corner of the bare walls, the closet filled with his books instead of clothes and old plush toys and pillows sealed in plastic bags to keep the never disappearing dust away. There wasn’t even one poster up to break the bare whiteness of the painted concrete.

 

His mother had spared him the painful task of cleaning it and vacuuming the thick layer of dust it had accumulated throughout the year he had been back in Korea. When he had sealed his books into the closets and stored what personal touch he had in the room into a suitcase and hauled it into his apartment back home, it looked extremely sparse.

 

 It was so painfully mundane that Jongin was forced to address the lingering thoughts ever since he had landed in the country.

 

He couldn’t quite put a finger on it—Jongin had almost forced his father to let him home for the holidays and renew his re-entry visa for the following year, bartering with him to just let that be his birthday gift instead of whatever knew phone was on the market at that time. His father relented, of course begrudgingly, due to the new tax levies implemented by the new crown prince, but the dark-haired male was sure his mother was the driving force behind his decision.

 

Anyways, he was supposed to be happy to be here. Over the moon, ecstatic or elated to be here again, but he’s not. He reasoned it as jetlag at first, but as he unpacked his suitcase and laid it on the floor to take his toiletries out, the gnawing persisted.

 

Toeing off his shoes and falling back on the bed, still in his jacket and jeans, he removed his glasses and ran his palm on his face. Goddammit, adulthood was hard. When he had turned to his side, he had noticed a shoebox on top of his old printer. With his insecurities already working overtime to keep him up all night, Jongin thought it would be better to change his clothes and tinker with whatever he could find in his room.

 

Deeming the shoebox more important than letting his tightly packed bags breathe, he reached over and took it in his hands as he plopped back into his bed. He took the lid off and saw odd trinkets, yellow ruled papers, polaroid pictures and a few drawings he had managed to save, and the most attention-grabbing thing in the box was a bouquet of dried roses, with a picture tucked into the plastic around it.

 

He remembered Kyungsoo, how the elder boy always found a way to make him happy—smile—whenever he needed it. Brushing the rough edge of his sweater against his cheek, he wiped a stray tear from his face. Things weren’t the same anymore—Kyungsoo didn’t do those things for him anymore.

 

As he pulled the old flowers out of the box, running a shaky finger on the petals now dried brown from age, Jongin found his mouth filling with something bittersweet as his head reeled with the memories of shaky smiles, warm browns and the red roses being thrust unceremoniously in his face.

 

Kyungsoo had a thing for being terrible with surprises really, but he loved that about him. He quickly dried the tears falling on his cheeks before setting the flowers on his desk again, before turning on his back to at least attempt to fall asleep on time to rid himself of the jet lag, but only found himself thinking about the flowers.

 

It was Junior year, about four years ago, Jongin remembered wrinkling his nose as he came into class that day, eyes rolling at the rose stems on his classmates' tables and tucked into their bags. Kyungsoo wasn't at their desks already as per usual with his morning person tendencies, but rather in the halls, pacing repeatedly as he argued with someone on the phone.

 

While he passed him, he picked up some words and phrases like _'Where are you?' 'Fuck you he's already here'_ but since Jongin's brain was never set up properly in the mornings, he didn't really pay it no mind. After the nearly jumping out his skin at the shrill ring of the bell, and an hour and a half long lecture with their Trigo teacher, Kyungsoo disappeared and a classmate was standing by his desk, chemistry book in her arms.

 

The class was deserted by this time, he had stayed behind because of a couple of reasons; the usual list of Valentine's surprises was happening outside, and he didn't want to see them because one he was guilty, because his fifteen-year-old brain couldn’t tell who gave chocolates to whom when you were both boys, and two, he still hadn’t done his classwork.

 

"Hey Jongin, uh, have you done the seatwork yet?" She had asked—Jenny—Jongin tried to recall. Jenny with the blonde hair and braces in full view as she smiled at him.

 

"I'm actually working on it right now." He answered.

 

"Do you get how it goes? Is it alright if we do it together?" She had asked. "To be honest with you, not really, but sure. Kyungsoo won't mind if you sit on his place for now I guess?" He pulled at Kyungsoo's chair and arranged his books into the storage under the desk.

 

"I was thinking we do it by my seat instead with Mariam? Is it okay?" Jenny tossed Mariam, another one of their classmates, a look before she made her way to them. "Alright." Jongin didn’t find the right to say no when Jenny had been nothing but nice to him when he first arrived in this new school.

 

"You can go there, we'll just go to the restroom for a bit. Thanks, Jongin!" Jenny grinned, her tongue fumbling with the syllables of his name and pulled Mariam out the room with her, nearly bumping into Matt and Leo, some of Kyungsoo’s friends on the pep squad.

 

Why Kyungsoo joined the pep squad, Jongin didn’t know. Kyungsoo made a lot of choices that he still didn’t understand why he did, but there was no use in asking questions when no one could give answers to them.

 

Jongin was just about to move seats when he was suddenly called, and as he turned to acknowledge the person who called him, his jaw dropped at the sight of a flushed Kyungsoo and a bouquet of roses in his arms. "Happy Valentines, Jongin _."_

 

He bit his bottom lip, fighting a grin that threatened to surface on his face. He remembered Matt whooping, and Leo giving them the thumbs up, his camera aimed at them. "You got me roses? Oh wow, and chocolate too." Kyungsoo thrust the bouquet of red roses and the box of toblerone in Jongin's arms, a hand coming up to his neck and smiling sheepishly.

 

" _You are so cheesy oh my god_." Jongin jabbed in wonky Korean, his words trailed by a laugh filled with affection.

 

Kyungsoo curled his upper lip at him and pursed his lips together, snapping back in much better enunciated Korean. _"A thank you would have sufficed, you know_." he said, arms crossing around his chest and eyes downcast as Jongin set the gifts on the table. "Shut up and hug me, Kyungsoo." He grabbed onto of Kyungsoo's wrists and pulled him closer, arms wrapping around the shorter's neck.

 

Jongin smiled when he felt Kyungsoo's arms around his waist. " _Thank you very much, Kyungsoo. I really appreciate this._ " he gave the elder a sweet smile as he pulled away, smaller hands running through Jongin's hair and finally cupping his cheek.

 

The elder pressed a kiss onto the soft skin of Jongin's cheek, lips lingering a little longer before pulling him close again. " _Anything for you Jongin, you deserve it_." He had whispered.

 

Jongin smiled against Kyungsoo's temple and pressed a kiss on his hair and didn’t pay any mind to the cooing and whooping in the room. The younger let out a deep breath as he pulled away, eyes downcast and already switching back to English. "I didn't prepare anything for you though."

 

The elder male just grinned and slung his arm around the younger’s frame, pulling him close and leaning his head on Jongin's as he pointed at Leo's direction. "Smile."

 

Jongin remembers that moment as the time he smiled so wide in his life despite looking ridiculous with a bouquet of roses shoved unceremoniously into his arms as the bright flash of the other's camera went off. "Wait! Wait! One more!" Matt practically shrieked as he bolted through the doors, a polaroid camera and a refill in his hands.

 

"Actually, let's waste this on you two. Kurt can pay me later." A cat-like grin surfaced on Matt's face as he motioned for them to get closer, white films dropping one by one into Leo's open palms. "Matt, please stop—"

 

"Ridiculous, Jonathan! Just one more of just you—to replace that ratty printed picture of you in Kurt's wallet."

 

“Matteo!”

 

With the last flashes of Kyungsoo’s flushed face in his mind, he finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

 

\--

With jet lag still strong in his system, Jongin had pretty much slept through the day, that his mother had come back from work with him still asleep. His mother had woken him up but Jongin only responded by turning his back to her and facing the wall, tucking his knees close to keep himself warm. “Jongin, your dad bought lunch and shawarma.”

 

“Uhuh.”

 

“Get up, we’re eating together, or Batman gets your food.” She threatened, letting out an amused burst of breath as Jongin grunted and pulled himself up the blanket cocoon of warmth he had made for himself. Slipping his specs on, he had noticed that he felt asleep in his jacket and jeans. Padding over to his suitcase and pulling a shirt and sweats on, he changed and slumped down on the dining table.

 

“Where’s batman?” Jongin rasped out, voice scratchy from disuse as he sleepily surveyed the living room decorated with minimal Christmas decor. She was probably busy with exams that she hadn’t had time to fully deck the halls with tinsel and anything and everything red.

 

“Already eating, and here, here’s your food.” She said, passing him a foil wrapped shawarma to him.

 

 _Jesus Christ is real_ , Jongin had thought, excitedly taking the roll and peeling it as if all remnants of sleep left him as he took the first bite. “You missed that, didn’t you?” His mother asked but Jongin could only give her a muffled noise as a reply, obviously preoccupied with his food.

 

“It’s been a good two years since I last got one of these, oh my god, I missed this so much.” He replied after he swallowed. His father had walked in with glasses filled with water in his hands from the kitchen, handling one to his son. “Take it easy, I’ll get you another if you like.” Jongin stared at him, taking in his greying hair at the temples and the wrinkle at the corner of his eyes.

 

Pushing his thoughts to the side for a second, he asked his mother what they were going to be doing later, to which she replied with the normal thing they do whenever he was back. Dinner with family friends, come to school where she taught, train again with his dad where he could probably meet some old childhood and high school friends to catch up with, and buy a lot of clothes to take back to Korea.

 

An easier routine to get back to, especially when he could finally laze around and read all the books he had both bought and downloaded. God was real when he checked in his luggage and saw that it didn’t exceed his allowance. If he was travelling with his mother, she would’ve probably brought back a huge tub of kimchi instead of his books, but he had explicitly said no to that after he got held up at customs for it a year ago.

 

\--

With two days of his month break already used up frying his brain with catching up on How to Get Away with Murder and reading books in between to at least salvage some of his brain cells from the brilliant mindfuckery that show provided him, Jongin practically ghosted around the flat at three am wrapped in a blanket like a low rent Jon Snow with his unruly hair and dark shirt and sweats.

 

He was pretty sure Batman, his tan shiba inu was as sleepless as he was, because the little dog would startle awake whenever Jongin’s bedroom door would creak open as he padded to the kitchen to get some water. Jongin felt guilty as hell when the pup would sleepily try to get up to greet Jongin from his crate by the hall to the kitchen but only ended up flopping down on his bed.

 

Jongin had fucked up his sleep schedule that his father even threatened him to turn off the router at night, just so he wouldn’t cause so much noise at two in the morning. He had retaliated by staying up reading book after book. Jongin was pretty sure he had read at least three James Patterson books in that night and had been startled awake from a nightmare borne from one of the plots.

 

Yeah, bad idea to be honest, but once he managed to exhaust his to watch list, there wasn’t much for him to do at home. He was very much tempted to start Bones instead, but even twelve seasons were a challenge for him to take on. Maybe next week, he thought. As an introvert in a rather conservatively run country, Jongin didn’t really have much to do whenever he was back in Dammam.

 

He can’t really drive, so getting out of the house was out of the question and his father always had to go to work too. Going to the mall alone was not in the list too, since he was already considered an adult man, he wasn’t allowed in the malls without his family due to the strict gender segregation laws. His parents still had work during the Christmas season because the kingdom’s Muslim heritage, so their vacations would only come on New Year’s.

 

He’d never admit it his mother, but he hated celebrating Christmas and setting up the tree just for them to clean it up after New Year’s. Not to mention the amount of socializing he needed to do was going to exhaust him for weeks to come.

 

 So Jongin had no choice but to stuff himself half to death with fries from the nearby McDonald’s and read until he could practically feel his eyes rolling back by themselves just to make him stop doing anything just to get out of decorating.

 

But his mother was ruthless, as she immediately got to the topic Jongin was dreading and desperately trying to avoid for months. “Jongin, have you already thought about what you’re going to do after you graduate?” she had queried just as her son busied himself with hanging tinsel over all the door frames around the house.

 

A grunt and nonsensical shrug was all she got in return.

 

“I’m not pressuring you, alright? I just want you to know if you already looked into some options for your future.” She chided gently as he passed the other little trinkets to be hung up on the walls, gauging Jongin’s reaction as he worked without a word.

 

“I haven’t really thought about it, honestly.” He murmured and met eyes with her, before muttering a sorry as he tacked a felt sock on his bedroom door. “What do you want to do? Are you going to apply for law school immediately, because if you are, you should look up the requirements now.”

 

Jongin shook his head as a reply. Law school seemed to be a little too farfetched dream at the moment. “Maybe I’ll work first. I wanna go to the overseas for another degree but it doesn’t seem really plausible to me right now.” He said quietly as he helped her clean up the living room from any stray bits of tinsel before choosing to retreat back to his room to avoid any more talk about his career, Batman happily trotting behind him.

 

As he cradled the little dog in his lap as he read a book, Jongin felt overwhelmingly empty again, as he did for the past few weeks before his flight back to Dammam. He was a tad superstitious, thinking that this was the universe’s way of getting back at him for being overly happy for finally passing his thesis defense.

 

Maybe it was talk with his mother, the fear of his upcoming graduation, and the anxiety of being thrust into a world he was still desperately unfamiliar with—Seoul was an extremely competitive place for jobs, and for a student that did just enough to get through the average grade, his future wasn’t looking too good for a workplace environment that equated rankings to work capability.

 

Jongin dreaded the whole talk about after graduation plans, because all he can really say is that he wanted to take a break.

 

Sleep.

 

Simmer in his self-doubt and insecurities, then get a job or go to grad school.

 

Which coincidentally was the center of his second existential crisis of the month, what his mother gently chided, and his father aggressively pestered him about. What if he finished a degree for nothing? That he was going to be second guessing all his choices for the rest of his life because none of them were his priority at all.

 

Jongin had shelved too many dreams and left too many goals unfulfilled to lose drive now. He knew he could live with regret for the rest of his life if he had a stable job, he told himself like a mantra, despite being raised to believe that he was smart and talented and destined for greater things; turned out that he merely had good memory and a small sliver of what could be considered talent.

 

He unconsciously stroked the base of the sleeping dog’s ear as he thought of all the dreams he had built of being a forensic anthropologist—to find truth amongst blood and bone and uncover civilizations through fragments and tombs.

 

—Built dreams of becoming a writer with bloodshot eyes and ink stained fingertips, pouring his joys and sorrows, his pains and pleasures on paper or the harsh glare of a computer screen in the middle of the night, as he profited off of all his heartaches and disappointments.

 

Out of all the dreams he’s ever had, being a lawyer seems the most realistic out of all three.

 

—The dream of becoming a lawyer, of finally having the medium to refine his argumentative nature into something of proper use that could help someone someday and bury himself in copious law books and articles in the hopes of winning a case or two.

 

Jongin sighed, deep and troubled from the base of his chest. He was about to graduate in a degree program in a field he had no love for. Strove hard for the last three years for an end result that was mediocre at best.

 

He will forever see his future diploma and toga portrait as a constant reminder that he set aside his aspiration for a lackluster nine-to-five job with a low grade salary. That he set aside what his younger self had woven numerous stories about his success for job security.

 

With the quick dwindling of the units in his program curriculum, Jongin found himself severely displaced in a world he had built though bricks of broken dreams, cemented with shelved ambitions and painted over with wasted youth.

 

Worth is a fickle thing—everyone had their own scale configured according to what mattered the most to them, no one would place one thing over the other the same. Whether it be passion versus comfort, happiness versus security and sanity versus time and soul consuming projects. He knew to himself that he didn’t want slow afternoons in stiff dress shirts and suffocating ties in monochrome offices.

 

At twenty, Jongin admitted he was not getting any younger. He will never have those years back, those years he deemed as a waste of time. He cannot help but lament the unfulfilled potential he perhaps had.

 

 _“What the fuck am I going to do with my life now?”_ He thought, as he remembered slow afternoons with Kyungsoo in the library, thinking about the supposedly bright futures fate had in stow for them.

“Hey Jonathan.” Kyungsoo had drawled, laying his head on the table to stare at Jongin’s furrowed brows as he worked on a chapter outline during study period. He had been spinning a pen in his idle hand but had abandoned it to smoothen the skin between Jongin’s brows. “Hey. Look at me for a minute.”

“I told you to call me Jongin, you’re not a teacher, Kyungsoo. Or would you rather I call you Kurt, since you’re so formal with me suddenly?” Jongin had retorted offhandedly with his words lacking the usual bite that they usually had with Kyungsoo, eyes flitting to meet Kyungsoo’s before he stared at the highlighted book in front of him back again. “Sorry, sorry. You weren’t paying attention to me.”

  
  
“You could’ve gotten my attention in other ways than sounding like Mr. Castillo when he noticed me nearly fall asleep in Spanish.” The younger had muttered, switching between three stabilos for a single paragraph, Kyungsoo had noticed. “If I had used my usual ways to get your attention, you would’ve screamed, and you’d hate me for getting you banned from the library.”

  
Jongin rolled his eyes at the slow mischievous spark building up in Kyungsoo’s smile, using the back of pen to run it down the length of the older boy’s spine, tickling him. “You’re too predictable, and if you tickle me, I’m going to kick you, I swear.”

  
Kyungsoo grinned, retaliating by poking Jongin at the neck, the younger biting down the surprised shriek from leaving his lips. “As if you could reach me.”

  
“If you forgot, I’m still taller than you, and you’ve already sunk low enough for me to not even exert any effort to reach you.” Came Jongin’s deadpan, which triggered the snort from Kyungsoo. “Speaking of, are you gonna keep doing Taekwondo when you go back to Korea?” The elder boy had moved his head from the table to the slope of Jongin’s neck and shoulder, the shorter hairs of his undercut prickling the softer skin there.

  
The sudden show of affection made Jongin anxious, because what if someone saw them—god forbid they get spotted by the librarian and get banned from the library from canoodling—but Kyungsoo didn’t seem to care at all about the scrutiny they would receive, and to be honest, Jongin appreciated the small gestures a lot due to his want to keep their relationship under wraps.

“Hmm, don’t really know. Maybe, if I can get a scholarship out of it.” Jongin had reasoned, shrugging his still slender shoulders at that time. “You? You still gonna be doing Pep in uni?” Kyungsoo shook his head. “I only did pep because they needed lifters, you know that.”

  
“With you that tiny, I’d think you were the one getting lifted, to be honest.” Kyungsoo scoffed at the reply and sat up straight, looking at Jongin with barely concealed annoyance. “Har, har, Jonathan. Very funny. So, you already thought of where you’re gonna apply to?” He had replied, saying Jongin’s name in a terrible slang, slurring the vowels.

  
Jongin had abandoned his work in front of him in favour of talking with the older boy, seeing as he wasn’t get going to get anything done with them talking so much. He had set his elbow on the table, cradling his chin as he faced Kyungsoo, who was busy musing up his short hair. “Actually, not yet. Mom wants me to go to the uni she once went to, but it’s mad expensive. I want to go to SNU, but you know, it’s really competitive so my options are still pretty open.”

  
Kyungsoo kept his eyes glued on the younger’s face as he spoke, seemingly fascinated with the wild expression on Jongin’s face. “But I am still thinking about choosing between taking up Law or Medicine after Psychology. What about you?”

  
“Architecture or Engineering, I still don’t know to be honest. I haven’t chosen a school to apply to either, but you know,” Kyungsoo had mirrored Jongin’s position on the table, reaching out to run his hands through Jongin’s longer fringe, murmuring something in his steadily deepening voice. “Atty. Kim Jongin or Dr. Kim Jongin, or if you prefer Atty. Jonathan Kim or Dr. Jonathan Kim, either way, both have pretty good rings to them, but you know what I really think?” He asked.

  
“What?” Jongin asked, not noticing how his question hung in the air as Kyungsoo lingered with his answer.

  
“Dr. Doh Jongin would sound much better. Imagine it when you pass the licensure exams—Dr. Doh Jongin.” Kyungsoo raised his hand, as if he had come up with a slogan. With the slow curve of Kyungsoo’s smile at Jongin, came the dark flush on the younger boy’s face. Jongin had moved his stare elsewhere, willing his cheeks to calm down. Kyungsoo let out a small yelp when he was pushed away, pouting when Jongin stood up and gave him a challenging look.  
  
  
"Who says I'm gonna a Doh someday?" Jongin started heading out the library and to the nearby vending machine, but Kyungsoo was already beside him, matching his longer strides. "Me. Cause I'm going to marry you immediately after your graduation. I could be Engr. Kim Kyungsoo, if you want, I don’t really mind.”  
  
"Immediately?" Kyungsoo grinned at the disbelief in Jongin’s voice, shaking his head at the pure mirth.  
  
"Like the moment you finish giving your valedictory speech, we'll go get married. I'll pull you off the stage and carry you in my arms out the hall, toga and diploma and all. We'll even have kids of our own." Jongin gave Kyungsoo an incredulous look at the mention of children, but still offered him a drink from his bottle of water, which the elder accepted gratefully due to the sweltering heat of the open halls of the school.

  
After they had finished the drink, they headed back in as Kyungsoo continued the conversation in a quieter voice. “I think you’d do pretty well, whatever you choose, but man, if I wanted to go to the same school to as you’re planning to, I have to triple all my studying efforts just to be with you.”

 

It was April, and the heat had come back with the days becoming longer once again, but Jongin was pretty sure that the clamminess of his palms wasn’t from the unforgiving desert heat outside the library doors. With the sun’s rays streaming in between the high windows of the library, Kyungsoo had practically looked like an angel with the stray beam of warmth hitting his hair, casting a sort of halo around him.

  
“You wanna go to the same school as me?” Jongin had asked quietly, whilst a giddy smile bloomed on Kyungsoo’s features.

  
“Why not? We can achieve all our dreams together, at the same time, we can make Seoul our playground. We’d go on midnight food trips and stuff ourselves with Odeng when the studying gets too much. You’d impress people with that big brain of yours while I awkwardly trail behind you as that smart freshman’s boyfriend.” Kyungsoo laughed, bringing Jongin’s hands into his and intertwining their fingers.

  
“Of course, that is, if you want that too.” Kyungsoo had looked up to him and said quietly, in the sincerest tone he could muster and right then and there, Jongin immediately knew what he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Kyungsoo. He wanted to be with Kyungsoo in Seoul or Dammam, or whichever city their dreams needed them to go to, just so they can achieve them.

 

Together.

 

Their eyes met, a silent conversation between two eager souls are the sounds of muted murmuring and books turning filled the air between them. Jongin had sat up straight, reaching down to pull an Algebra book from his bag. “Well then, if you want to be Engineer Doh, or Architect Doh, you gotta start brushing up on your Math skills by now.” Kyungsoo wrinkled his nose, but the expectant looks on Jongin’s face made him bite the witty retort on the tip of his tongue.  
  
“Alright, teach me Math, as if I wasn’t a glutton for pain already.”

 

 

[ i.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658259) [ii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658289) [iii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658298) [iv.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658337) [v.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658352) [vi.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658382)

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 A week into his semester break, his dad told him that they were going to bring the dog to the vet for his annual shots.

 

That proved to be a bad idea, going to the Vet’s office, because Jongin nearly got into a fight with the Vet administering the shots because his dog positively looked and sounded absolutely traumatized from the whole thing. He ended up slipping the dog into his hoodie to soothe him, even if it meant getting black fur on his grey woolen sweater.

 

Batman ended up sleeping in Jongin’s bed that night, and by the time Jongin woke up the next morning, he got up to a mouthful of fur because his shibe decided that the best place to sleep was on Jongin’s pillow, beside his face.

 

After the whole Vet fiasco, it was the family dinners Jongin had to suffer through, and the endless slew of questions regarding his academics, his looks or relationship status. He wished he just brought around flyers and offered them to anyone who would ask anything about those three topics just to save his breath about whether he was graduating in the fall or why hasn’t he found a girlfriend with his good looks.

 

No girlfriend, only half-baked crushes that lasted for two months based on superficial attraction, with an exception of a batch mate that graduated just that October that he almost courted. Jongin lived a relatively quiet life back in Seoul, and he didn’t want to change that with a relationship. He couldn’t even keep a succulent alive, what more an emotional connection with another person?

 

With the whirlwind of scheduled gatherings already done and over with for his first week back in the country, Jongin found himself sparking up when his mother had offered if he wanted to sit in one of her classes back in the school he attended for his junior year in high school, before he had moved schools.

 

He had merely laughed at her offer. There was no way in all living hell would he sit down with preschoolers for four hours.

 

While he refused to sit in with her kindergarten students that barely even reached his hip, he instead used the time roaming the old halls of ISG Dammam, where he used to run around or drag his feet on as an awkward teen. He had also noted that half of the school had been undergoing some reconstructions, but he did overhear that the administration had decided to move to a bigger building.

 

He took in the familiar sights of the swing sets he used to spend his time waiting to be picked up by his dad, and the slides he almost got stuck in before because lanky limbs like his didn’t exactly fit in a kid’s playground anymore.

 

 As he arrived at the high school wing with an old Maroon 5 album blaring in his ears, he spent a few minutes looking around bulletins and spotted a few familiar names on the recent honor roll, the murmur of ongoing classes in the background. He also saw his old classrooms, smiling to himself when he spotted the homeroom teacher for his section in junior year was still the same lady with the quick-fire wit as she shot down students with dumb answers during her physics lectures.

 

He sifted through the memories of loud banter, and the unsubtle whisper of gossip in the middle of classwork and talk of prom during junior year, balancing his academics in the mornings, and nearly tripping over his own feet as he struggled to knot his belt for training in the afternoons. Jongin unconsciously did the motions of tying his belt over his do buk, hands following the old path they have gone through for nearly a decade and a half.

 

Right over left, and then left of right to lock everything in; his embroidered name hanging on the left.

 

Kyungsoo would always chase him down because he would always forget to bring an extra shirt to change into, and Jongin was sure that his mother was always suspicious of the plain white tees in the laundry, when Jongin rarely wore them himself.

 

That boy really did chase after him quite the number of times because of how many times he had messed up with him, Jongin mused, maybe that’s why Kyungsoo’s ex almost dedicated her year into making his life a living hell by spreading the most malicious rumors about Jongin, just because she couldn’t bear the fact that Kyungsoo didn’t want to try again with her.

 

And that Kyungsoo never really chased after her. Jongin laughed to himself when he remembered his Filipino friend, Julie, always teasing him for having the older boy wrapped around his pretty fingers for all of junior year. He needed to talk to her soon.

 

 Jongin considered himself lucky back then due to his jock and honor student status—nobody would dare mess with him, or else his experience in high school would have been much more terrible.

 

While Hannah was terrible and was probably the worst person he had met, Doh Kyungsoo was probably one of the few fondest memories he had of high school, even if he once almost made Jongin fail a final by forgetting to return his notes before the night of the exam.

 

Christ, High School really brought out the worst in everyone, even him. He was incredibly petty back then, holding grudges for the tiniest things. He ended up giving the older boy the cold shoulder and ignoring his apologies whether be it through text or in conversation. Jongin thought that may have been too much, because truth be told, he had a backup of his notes back then.

 

Kyungsoo, bless his patience, ended up chasing Jongin to and fro the halls just to attempt to make the younger boy to talk to him for a week, before Jongin forgave him because he couldn’t stand not talking to his best friend ( _and boyfriend, Jongin uses that term loosely because labels weren’t exactly a thing with him back then_.)

 

Heaving a deep breath and staring at his old locker at the High School wing, Jongin clicked his tongue and shook his head. Maybe the reason why he really forgave Kyungsoo that fast was because the elder had resorted to writing letters to the younger since he left all his texts on seen, and leaving Jongin’s birthday gift to him, a bracelet, inside one of the letters.

 

Jongin thought Kyungsoo was going to break up with him there and then, but Kyungsoo gathered his sullen form and shaking shoulders in his arms during a break between pep squad practices when he saw Jongin’s broken expression as he lingered by the bleachers, wringing his hands. ‘ _Of course not, I wasn’t going to break up with you. I just wanted to explain but give you space at the same time_.’ He had whispered, realizing what he had just made Jongin go through the past week.

 

What did he do to deserve such a patient boyfriend? Jongin thought with teary eyes as he gripped the back of Kyungsoo’s sweaty shirt hard in his fists. He probably risked his life to save a dog in a past life—probably, yeah.

 

When he thought that the unwilling trip to memory lane had drawn out too much, he made his way back to his mother’s homeroom in the preschool wing but bumped into one his old teachers during sophomore year, Mrs. Cruz.

 

Jongin honestly didn’t think that she would recognize him with his now taller stature and thinner features, but maybe messing up a Shakespeare monologue for an oral exam in Literature due to Kyungsoo’s dumb ass yelling out ‘ _I love you’_ in the middle of his speech made him quite memorable.

 

“Oh, Jonathan, is that really you?” She had greeted, smiling at his way. Jongin paused his iPod and took his earpods out, nodding.

 

He hadn’t heard his English name in years, to be honest, so his reaction was pretty much delayed. “Uh, yeah. I mean, yes Miss, it’s me.” Jongin had replied, mirroring her smile with a tight-lipped version of his own. She had offered her hand to shake, and he did, as not to seem rude. “Are you visiting some friends, Jonathan?”

 

“Oh no Miss, I just wanted to see if anything has changed around here and yeah, a lot did.” He said, breathing deeply as he awkwardly gestured to the halls and the now red lockers lining them. “I was just going to go back to the admin office to get my middle school yearbook too, but I got a little lost down memory lane.” Jongin explained, stuffing his hands down his jean pockets.

 

He fidgeted as the woman asked him about university, and the last time he had visited. He had given her the rundown that he was attending a uni in South Korea and taking up a degree in Business, and that he hadn’t visited this school for a long time after he had moved to the Dhahran branch of their school. “I haven’t been around here for three years, since uh, January of 2014.” Her eyes dimmed at hearing the familiar date, but she had tried to hide it when Jongin’s eyes stayed on her face.

 

“Well, at least you’re here again. Are you still in university now, Jonathan?” Mrs. Cruz had tried to divert the conversation, and Jongin was thankful that she did because he couldn’t have been able to handle such an awkward topic. “Yes, it’ll be my last semester next year. I’ll be graduating in the fall.” She had grinned at this and reached out to tap him on the shoulder.

 

“My gosh, you kids are really growing up so fast. I’m sorry, but I must go to my next class now. Congratulations in advance, Jonathan!” She had laughed, waving at her former student goodbye as she walked away.

 

\--

 

With his year book in his hands and his heart heavy at just the sudden realization that he was indeed growing up too fast, Jongin was left staring at the streetlights pass by their car, the orange lights blurred as they went through the highway to meet another one of their family friends for another holiday dinner.

 

They were now at a Chinese restaurant at Al-Rashid, and the hosts were now his father’s coworkers, an old childless couple that had been quite taken with Jongin as a child and still had quite the tendencies to suddenly give him presents even if he had been pass the age of receiving gifts a long time ago. Grateful over the shoes he had been suddenly given, Jongin had no choice but to be laid down to the jury to answer questions about his life in Korea.

 

Ever the quiet one to keep to himself, Jongin was practically forced to market himself as he explained what really happened. Of course, they were quite surprised that Jongin had instead pursued Business instead of Medicine, like he had originally planned to. Jongin, being the impulsive and petty shit, he was, had answered that his parents had chosen that career path for him, the path to being a lawyer.

 

His father’s boss had a skeptical look on his face, while his wife had worry over her aged beauty. “How are you doing with school? It’s quite hard to pursue something you’re not passionate about, you know, Jongin dear.” She had explained gently, reaching out to hold Jongin’s sweaty hand in hers. The youngest one on the table stared at her hands, eyes focused hard on the gold of her wedding ring glinting under the mellow ambiance of the restaurant’s overhead lamps.

 

The air hanging between them on the table had grown stifling. Noel had coughed to try to dispel the awkward air, but Jongin was on a roll.

 

“Oh, I’ve grown used to it auntie. It’s okay. I’m doing okay with my program, and it’d seem like such a waste if I shifted back then. Dad didn’t want me to shift because he said it’d be a waste of time.” He had answered quietly, already feeling his dad’s intense scrutiny on the side of his face as he awkwardly breezed through the questions. His mother had heaved a deep breath from her chest as she shook her head, she had already anticipated another fight when they got back home.

 

And she was right. Jongin’s father had already instigated a fight the moment he had pushed in the key into the door knob of their flat. “What are you doing in Korea that you talk like that now, like you have no respect for me?” He had asked, but Jongin had to be dumb to not sense the irritation in his tone.

 

“Look, I’m sorry Dad. I didn’t mean it.” He had muttered, trying to slip away from this confrontation, kicking his shoes off and setting his bag on the chair beside his bedroom door. Jongin was so tired, his jet lag was still fucking with this sleep schedule, and all he wanted was to go to bed and sleep until his body had to physically haul him out of bed. His father had other plans though. “You made me look like an idiot there!”

 

With the anger bubbling under his skin, Jongin had answered back as he shrugged off his jacket in the living room. “Don’t act like you didn’t say that to me! When I got kicked out of the Accountancy program, I told you I was going to shift to Psychology—but no! You said it was going to be a waste of time and my majors if I shifted to a completely different program!” He had stated, voice cracking because it was the same fucking argument about his career, again and again.

 

Jongin had so much pent up anger about this to just get go of the argument just too easily. “I understand that, I do! The school I chose was fucking expensive—adding another year to my college stay would’ve been a waste of money too, right?”

 

His father had yelled back at him. “I am you father, you don’t get to talk to me like this. Why are you blaming me for your short comings—I give you anything you want—all you need to do is study, but you couldn’t even maintain your grades!” Jongin’s mother had tried to calm her husband, putting a hand on his chest to steer him away from saying anything that could prolong this fight, but he gently shook her off. 

 

Jongin had taken a lot from his father, from his looks to personality and quick to rise anger, but he took after his mother’s brains, according to the former. Jongin could say he was a perfect mix of them both, a secretive father and an overthinking mother, with all the problems he kept bottled up and how he stressed over them constantly behind their backs.

 

He knew that his parents would be the only people who could accept his ugly traits, but between his lingering issues from high school, he couldn’t bring himself to tell them anything anymore. Communication was never a really big thing enforced in this household, and it always ended up with all three of them exploding in rage fueled screams and half thought arguments thrown around.

 

“Don’t turn your back to me, Jongin. I am talking to you!”

 

Jongin breathed a shaky inhale, a bitter taste in his mouth as he felt the familiar prickling of his nose and growing wetness in his eyes. “I failed once dad, but you couldn’t give me a chance to do better in something I really wanted—I never got the chance to choose for myself and one time I ask for something, you don’t let me do it!”

 

“What do you want to do now? Shift? You are about to graduate! What are you going to do, waste those four years? This carelessness what nearly got you to fail again!” His father had all but growled at him, his fists shaking by his sides as he tried to compose himself.

 

“No, I’m not going to shift, all I’m saying right now is I’m tired, Dad, I’m so tired of being miserable because all I’m doing is what you both want for me! I never got to do anything I want because all I’m doing is studying!” Jongin screamed, chest heaving with the intense breaths he took. “I feel like such a loser when I can’t relate to what my friends are talking about, all because I was so cooped up!”

 

He paused to take a breath. “I’m sorry that I am not the ideal child because I messed up one time you couldn’t forgive me for it!”

 

“Messed up? You got suspended back in high school and now in university, you get kicked out of a program, all because you wanted fit it with your poor choice of friends!”

 

“It was three goddamned days, and I can’t believe that you are going to hold that against me again! But you act like I have shamed the entire family name by telling someone to peek at a history exam, and them being gullible enough to do what I said! One thing—and that’s it? I’m no longer your prodigal son? Is that it?”

 

Jongin had laughed, shaking his head at the chuckles or sobs—he didn’t know what they were anymore—had ripped themselves out his throat as he yelled all the things he had been bottling up for years. “I worked so hard to piece what’s left of my broken pride after getting kicked out of the BSA program—I’m on the top ten of my program, but it’s obvious you don’t really care!”

 

His father diverted his gaze from his sobbing son to his wife that was silently sat on the couch, watching her son and husband scream and pass the blame onto each other. He kept silent as Jongin’s sobs were the only thing resonating in the otherwise silent flat. Jongin’s eyes landed on his framed high school toga picture on the wall, and for some reason, that just made him more emotional.

 

“Book me a flight back to Seoul tomorrow, don’t renew my visa or my iqama—I don’t care anymore, because who cares about Jongin’s choices right? When you’re the only one deciding for this family!” As Jongin angrily wiped the tears off his face, he scooped his whining dog from his feet and slammed the doors of room behind him, fully sobbing into the little dog’s back as he slid down the wood.

 

Jongin cried and cried, but the sadness didn’t seem to have an end. All the grief poured forth from his chest without control like a broken dam, the concrete of his control no longer able to stop them from getting through. He was so, so sad, miserable, fucking _smad_ even. Batman’s whines and licks on his teary face was the only thing that managed to calm him down enough to curl himself into a ball on his sheets.

 

 Lifting a hand to scratch behind the dog’s ear, Jongin chuckled at Batman’s snout pressing into his jaw. “It’s okay—I’m okay. You don’t have to be sad for me too. I’m just angry.” He had whispered, not giving any fucks if his dog even understood him at all.

 

Failure always left a bad taste in his mouth that he had grown to tolerate, but still hated with a passion. But he remembered Kyungsoo, and how they cracked differently in the face of failure. As Jongin’s mind hardened at the face of a shitty grade or a bad performance in a competition until it raged in his mind until his hands shook from its intensity, Kyungsoo caved under it, grew even more fragile under its unforgiving glare.

 

He remembered a semester back in his sophomore year in high school, exams were getting handed back and eliciting mixed reactions from the students.  Jongin was a little in the annoyed side; but in reality, he couldn't really be bothered because he did manage to get a perfect score on his History test, his Trigo exam can go fuck itself.

  
His Algebra exam was a few points away from getting a hundred, but Kyungsoo, however, was a different story. It was their ten am Algebra class when Jongin noticed Kyungsoo’s eyes started to water after receiving their exams. Jongin cupped his knee from under the table and stroked it comfortingly throughout the subject and once the bell rang, Kyungsoo buried his face in his arms.

 

Kyungsoo’s friends walked by their desks to head out the door, patting his shoulders as they filed out of the room. Normally at this time, Kyungsoo would be running out the room with them, but today was a tad different.  
  
"Soo—Kyungsoo, please look at me. Please stop crying—" Jongin went on his knees in front of the crying male as tried to lift the older's face from his arms on the table but Kyungsoo only grabbed on his hands and held onto it tightly, shaking his head.  
  
The younger stroked the soft hair and nudged his chin up, heart breaking at the sight of wet long lashes and the tear streaks on the rosy cheeks. "Soo—baby—come on, please we'll do better on the next test. I'll even study with you, please, just stop crying." He wiped the tears off with his thumbs and patted his pockets for a handkerchief.  
  
"I'm such a failure, Jongin." He muttered, head bowing down again but Kyungsoo held his chin in place. "I can't even pass a stupid Algebra test."

  
"No, you're not. Okay, you're not. You're not a failure; Math just isn't your strong point." A new wave of tears poured from Kyungsoo's eyes as his lower lip wobbled, Jongin left helpless as he watched his eyes shine behind the smudged lenses of his glasses. "Yes, I am."

 

"Baby—you're not. You're great at other things. Please cheer up." He ran his fingers through the older’s hair and rubbed comforting circles on the top of his hand, even trying to use a pet name he rarely used to pacify him.

 

"Kyungsoo, listen—you're perfect. You're best at the things I'm not; like singing, acting and being nice to people. No one is gonna look at you and say that you can't be our friend just because you failed a test." He tried explaining, lowering the tone of voice to seem more soothing.

  
"No Jongin, you don't understand!" Kyungsoo whispered, the deep sobs from his chest butchering his voice. "You can say that cause you're smart, you always get good grades. Jongin—I can't disappoint my mom." He wasn't hiding his face in his arms anymore, yet his eyes were still downcast, opting to play with Jongin's hand and tears were falling freely on his lap and his sleeves.  
  
"I get bad grades." The younger smiled hesitantly and pulled him closer by the nape and the crook of neck, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. “Granted yes, I do cry about it and be in a sour mood for the rest of the day, but I know I just have to better next one.” Kyungsoo shook in his arms as Jongin felt his uniform get wet.

 

 "Baby, even if your mom knew, she would know that you did your best, and gonna continue doing your best again." He rubbed the other’s back until he felt his breathing steady, comforting him to the best of his ability. "Stop beating yourself up over one test."

  
"Please, Soo. Stop crying." Kyungsoo didn't speak until he was calm again, but he did, it was Jongin's turn to lose his composure. "I love you." Kyungsoo muttered it against the collar of Jongin’s shirt with such sincerity that Jongin immediately felt the weight of the words pressing against his shoulders.  
  
Jongin tried to ignore it, reasoning that he had just misheard it but even though muffled against his chest, he had heard the three words clearly. "What—" Kyungsoo pulled away and looked into his eyes, searching his bewildered ones. "I said thank you. Thank you." Kyungsoo’s voice held something else; resolve? strength? Jongin didn't know, but if he wasn't ready, it was probably safer if he didn't say back.

 

"You're welcome, Soo. Anything for you."

 

He thought about how sucked at comforting people, obviously, but he always tried his best. Especially for Kyungsoo, even though he lacked greatly in his emotional quotient.

 

As Batman made himself comfortable on Jongin’s side, already turned up on his back and with his belly exposed for the third night in the row in his owner’s bed, Jongin was left sniffling and staring at the crackling paint on the and the empty bulb caked with darkened dust on the ceiling. His chest had tightened and the sinking feeling in the base of his stomach was back again, and it was making him more nauseous than ever.

 

He pulled his phone out of his phone pocket and scrolled through his contacts list, before he had finally found the one he was looking for. Junmyeon was an online friend he met through the confusing web of mutual friends they had, but they had grown much closer than he had ever anticipated through the weeks of dm-ing and calls.

 

 They were startlingly different in numerous aspects--from their majors and interests, but they bonded through a love for a band, and Jongin found a true friend within the older boy.  Doing some mental calculations, he had deemed the time difference between New York and Damman acceptable to text him.

 

**Jonathan Kim**

_Hey hyung_

_U awake?_

**JM Kim**

_yea_

_it’s like the afternoon here_

_just finished grocery shopping with my mom_

_while you’re already having fun_

_with your dog_

**Jonathan Kim**

_He’s already asleep on me_

_[IMG attached]_

_If simmering in sadness and anger was fun_

_I would’ve never known boredom all my life_

**JM Kim**

_He’s so cute what the heck :((((_

_Ooh shit_

_What happened_

**Jonathan Kim**

_Just another fight with my parents_

_My dad mostly_

_I said something stupid at a dinner and he said something_

_And then I said something stupid again_

_Now I’m crying_

**JM Kim**

_Oh no: c_

_You wanna call_

_Or do you need me to talk about something else_

**Jonathan Kim**

_Can I call_

_I just want to get this out my head_

_And be distracted too idk_

_Is it okay_

**JM Kim**

_Of course!!_

_Just let me get my earphones and go to my room_

 

Jongin waited for the familiar beeping of his messenger app to dissipate, before Junmyeon’s familiar voice came through his earphones. _“Hey Jonathan! How are things!”_ The younger boy shifted on his side and greeted back, keeping his voice low due to his doors quite thin. “Hey hyung.”

 

_“What happened!!”_

 

“We just basically fought about my career choices and how much I had no idea what was I going to be doing with my degree, and basically told me how much of an ungrateful son I was. No big deal.” Jongin breathed out, practically hearing Junmyeon’s ‘ _aww_ ’ on the other line. _“I’m sorry for that, Jongin.”_

 

“ _Aww_ indeed, hyung.” Jongin paused to sniffle as he wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweater—unsanitary—he knows, but who gave a damn when your mental and emotional wellbeing was spiraling into nothingness. “Nah, I know I said some dumb shit but what’s the point. I can’t take back four years of my life just because I felt sad about something I chose.”

 

He heard Junmyeon breathe slow through the phone, and Jongin shook his head. “I’m sorry. I know I just dump my problems on you, it's unfair,” The younger spoke slowly, absentmindedly running his hands through his napping dog’s fur.

 

“Our talks shouldn’t just revolve around my being an absolute dick to my parents.” Jongin chose to digress from their topic and moved onto something more mundane, like Junmyeon’s suitor. “How are things with you and Kris?”

 

 _“Well, he took me out to dinner after my internship ended, but after it, nothing.”_ Junmyeon drawled, the quiet tap tap tap of his keyboard prominent in the background. He let out a small burst of breath as he kept on talking. “He’s confusing, I mean, he’s so hot and cold about things. He tells me stuff out of the blue as if I’m actually interested.”

 

“Are you?”

 

 _“No? He’s gotta stop playing me around because, honest to god, I’m not dumb enough to fall for it.” The_ older boy said heatedly, tone growing sharper as he shifted to Korean, which greatly amused Jongin. This was why he loved talking to him, because they could shift to different topics in a beat and still have more stories to tell about anything and everything.

 

And Junmyeon’s failed workplace romance and Jongin’s existential crises were just two the many recurring topics they cycled around. “Do you want the attention, hyung?”

 

 _“I don’t, to be honest. Not from him anyways.”_ Jongin chuckled through the line as he shook his head, still obviously intrigued about Junmyeon’s tall man of an ex suitor. “What if he tells you that he does want to actively pursue you this time around, how about that?”

 

The older boy hummed as he thought about it, making nonsensical sounds on the back of his throat over the phone. _“Maybe? Sure? That’s what I want, you know. Straight to the point, not with weird hints and telling me I’m cute out of the blue.”_ Jumyeon explained, the quiet tapping of his fingers against the keyboard ceasing. _“I’m getting too old for that kinda thing, I am twenty-two.”_

 

“Only twenty-two, and you’re still in school. You pretty much have nothing to worry about until you have to study for boards. You have all the time for dumb boys and short relationships right now. Burn the bridge of long term commitment when you get there.” Jongin spoke, balancing his phone between this neck and shoulder as he sat up, bringing the sleeping dog to his lap.

 

Normally, he’d whip out a bottle of soju or a vodka mule during their talks, but the nearest place he could get alcohol was in Bahrain, so he’d just settle on milk. “Use your twenties to cry about your student loans and shitty hangovers, you can date to marry later on. You’re going to be a legal drug dealer in the future, have fun with it.”

 

 _“You can say that because you’re just a semester away from graduating, Jongin, while I’m here dying over multiple lab subjects and majors.”_ Jongin heard Junmyeon’s chuckles through his phone and smiled. “I’m about to turn twenty-one, but I feel like I’ve missed out on so much because I kept studying. It’s no fun you know, I feel a little bit like a loser.”

 

The younger boy munched on a biscuit he had grabbed from the kitchen along with the tetra pak of milk he got earlier. “A loser with a degree in Management.” He continued, shaking his head.

 

 _“Nah, you’re not a loser. You’re just inexperienced. Knowing less than someone doesn’t make you stupid. It just makes you less informed.”_ Junmyeon replied, the tapping of his keyboard growing more impatient as the conversation dove deeper into the older boy’s story about his roommates. “You’re typing real hard there. What’s that for?”

 

 _“Oh, it’s a lab report due after winter break, but I’m just getting whatever I can done so that I don’t cram when I get back to the apartment for the rest of the semester.”_ Junmyeon continued to explain the project, using jargons that Jongin has only heard from his friends in the health sciences major. “I didn’t get any of that, but I hope it goes well. You know I’m a lost cause in anything science related besides physics.”

 

Jongin looked at the wall clock on the far wall of his room and did some mental calculations, he had already been talking to Junmyeon for almost 2 hours and it was already almost two am, and he had already agreed to a morning training session all the way in Udhailiyah. _“Hey, isn’t it like, 2 am there_?” The older boy asked, whilst Jongin took a while to stifle the yawn in his chest. “Yep.”

 

The older’s tinkling laugh resonated through the line as Jongin imagined Junmyeon shaking his head. _“You should go to bed, Jongin. Because I know that if you don’t, you’re going to be asleep until 4 pm tomorrow.”_

 

“Gotcha, good night, hyung.”

 

 _“Good night to you too, little bear.”_ Another breathy chuckle, before the line went dead.

 

\--

 

Whilst Jongin had spent the entirety of the morning drive to Udhailiyah asleep with his neck craned almost painfully on his side sleeping the whole ride away, he spent the training session pouring his frustration over the drills and kicking the bags as hard as he could possibly manage with no regard for his body or the holder’s. Left. Right. Turn—jump. Kick.

 

He shouted all the pain he had been bottling up for months out as he pushed his body to his limits, just to escape all conversation with anyone. Jongin had even refused to take a break, even when his lungs burned for a break. Whilst everyone else was sat in little corners with their parents or just resting, he took on the stationary bag and decided to just kick it until he could feel the sting of skin against faux leather and the parched feeling in his throat.

 

The kicks had gathered up quite the audience behind him, as both the trainees and their parents were curious to see who was new face beating the body form until cracks formed on its surface. When his feet refused to cooperate with any of the harder kicks, he gave up and slid down the wall, breathing hard.

 

Training proceeded as normal then, and by the time it was over and back in the road back home, his body was exhausted to the point that he couldn’t even think about anything anymore. Perhaps that was his true goal for the day—exhaust himself until all he could do was rest, rest and rest.

 

More training sessions followed that one in Udhailyah, some set in the evenings in nearby schools, including the ones Jongin previously attended. He opted not to come along with his dad to one of the more private sessions he taught to some Arab Businessman’s kids in an exclusive compound but was very much happy to come along to the one in his school.

 

He expected some attention from the parents, but he didn’t expect some of the kids, now grown up to be teenagers, whom he used to teach to break out of formation and come running to him to crush him in hugs and huge smiles on their young faces. While he was shaking in his slippers and thin windbreaker over his dobuk and undershirt, a bad choice for outdoor trainings, he immediately felt the warmth they had to offer.

 

Yerim, one of the kids he had gotten very close to back then from coaching through numerous matches and competions, had grown up to be quite the pretty girl but he knew from his dad that she was quite the force to be reckoned with. That sparked a little flame of pride in him, Jongin admitted. She refused to let him go, squeezing tight at his waist until he wrapped his arms around her in return. “Oppa! Let’s talk later, okay? Coach is going to have my ass for this later.”

 

Jongin spent that training session wincing every time he even made a move to kick or even sustain a stance for a poomsae, his muscles and joints obviously over fatigued from training filled weekend. He had told his father that he’d be sitting out the conditioning drills for now, as he felt like he would just make an embarrassment of himself by stalling the rest of the people behind him as endurance wasn’t ever his strong point.

 

He chose to nurse a bottle of Gatorade at the bleachers instead, watching little white belts run around and the assisting junior black belts scratch their heads in frustration from being unable to wrangle up the small squad of students they were assigned to teach while the coloured belts in the middle of the gym sped through the ladder drills and side to side squats, jumping through a set of kicks immediately after.

 

Jongin both frowned and shook his head. If he had ignored the aching call of his shoulders and thighs, he was sure to be wheezing at the sidelines after he finished a round of those drills. The younger coach the school had hired was as relentless as he was amazingly patient with those who didn’t exactly do the drills as per his instruction.

 

He had the remaining black belts in line heaving deep breaths every time they were caught with a foot or fist out of line, having them do it again and again until their muscles would never forget the routine.  Jongin saw Yerim harshly tighten her ponytail behind her head as she finally got through the grueling drills, rolling her ankles in slow circles with her foot pressed against the rubberized floor to somehow soothe the pain.

 

When he caught her eye, the younger girl made a symbol of slashing her neck with his neck with an exasperated look on her sweat ridden face. Jongin could’ve sworn Yerim made the sign of the cross when she heard the shrill screech of a whistle, and a loud shout of 10-minute water break from their coach.

 

Grinning, Jongin passed a bottle of Gatorade to her, which Yerim greatly appreciated when she plopped down next to him on the lowermost bleacher he was sat on. He didn’t expect the hard swat Yerim landed on his thigh, making him yelp. “You are so unfair, oppa.” She chided, shaking her head with the way Jongin tried to smile his way out of whatever was happening. “Why? I didn’t do anything?”

 

Pouting, Yerim gave another swat to his thigh again, softer this time. “Exactly! You sat here while my ass wheezed through that.” She pointed to the ladders tacked on the ground and stared at it as if she was willing it to disappear. “You do realize that I haven’t been training regularly for three years. I only started training again two days ago, and my stamina is weak as shit. That if I do that, I might just die in the middle of it.”

 

“You look like nothing’s changed with your moves, oppa. I don’t buy it.” The younger girl crossed her arms and gave Jongin an accusing look, narrowing her eyes. Jongin merely held his stomach out, patting at it fondly. “I’ve eaten my body weight in rice, fries, ddeokbokki and odeng for the past four years, with no exercise but walking from my apartment to campus and running away from my responsibilities.” He explained, watching the grin surface back on Yerim’s youthful face.

 

“You gotta understand that I can’t just do footwork drills immediately. I’m very much out of shape now. Even the campus stairs make me wheeze every time I use them.” He leaned in conspiratorially, whispering, “I can’t even spread my legs anymore.” Which made Yerim double over in laughter.

 

Before Yerim could finally catch her breath from laughing, more familiar faces came barreling towards Jongin, engulfing his taller form in an awkward bear hug with a loud chorus of _‘Kuya* Jongin!’_ When they pulled back, he saw the other two from the trio Yerim formerly competed with in synchronized poomsae competitions, Angel and Jill and two of the younger black belts he had trained with before too, Carlo and Khalid, who had less enthusiastic greetings but were still warm to greet him with shy smiles and awkward waves with their now gangly limbs.

 

With the gaggle of teenagers surrounding him, Jongin truly realized how much time had gone by while he was gone for the past two years. He understood how awkward of a time frame Jongin was—all the same age friends he had had either already graduated with a job, or were already with child, and his younger friends were all busy with academics and post puberty stuff like awkward dating and making out in the gym bathrooms like these kids he was surrounded with.

 

“Hi!” Jongin greeted back, pulling the sleeves of his windbreaker closer and tucking his arms into his stomach. “Why aren’t you two in uniform?” Angel, the tallest of the three, parted her _abaya_ and showed her knee covered in copious amounts of kinetic tape and a braced knee support. “Got injured in the competition two weeks ago, so coach said I should lay off for another week.” She lamented sadly as she gingerly sat down on the edge of the bleachers, straightening her legs after.

 

Jill, on the other hand, had on their school’s volleyball jersey under her hoodie and a sweatband tight over her forehead as she wiped her face. “I just sneaked off practice from the gym just to say hi to you.” She grinned, all soft cheeks and straight teeth from what Jongin knew was from braces. Looks like she just got her braces off. “You should be honoured.”

 

“You don’t train anymore?” Jongin asked, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, I still do, but I only attend during Saturdays because volleyball practice has the same sched on Thursdays. _Hala,_ ” She muttered, looking hurriedly at the clock in the middle of the quad. “ _Kuya,_ I have to go _na._ My coach probably noticed that I had a bathroom break way too long, she might think I’m dead.”

 

She patted Jongin’s shoulder one last time before running off, yelling behind her. “See you guys later!”

 

Angel, on the other hand, laughed beside Yerim. “Hey, _Kuya_ , do you have plans on the 23rd?”

 

“I’m not really sure, but why? What’s up?” The shrill sound of a whistle made Yerim roll her eyes and tie her hair back again, zipping up her training jacket up to her neck before running back out on the quad, the reflective stripes down her arms glinting under the harsh spotlights. “We gotta go, or else she’s gonna have my head. Carlo, let’s go!” She yelled, referring back to their head instructor while pulling Carlo off the court floor, grabbing at Jongin’s leg to anchor himself. “Save me.”

 

The little scene quickly broke off when another shrill whistle resonated in the quad, making the three teens in uniform quickly bolt back in formation. “You’re not gonna go yet _kuya_?” Jongin shook his head, rubbing down his chest. “Acid reflux from my coffee, I’ll go in a few minutes, why?”

 

Angel nodded before responding. “The usual year end party we do every year is going to be on the 23rd, and while the evening after training is gonna be spent on awarding the winners of the Riyadh competition, we’re also gonna have a little bit of a potluck. So, come okay? I know you miss my Mom’s shanghai rolls.” Angel grinned at him, poking him on the ribs. “I’m inviting you, so you can’t bail.”

 

Jongin laughed and patted her on the shoulder twice, getting up from the bleachers from his dad’s calls. “Sure, I’ll ask my dad to drop me off or something, but now, I gotta stretch these out.” He said, gesturing his legs.

 

That training made Jongin lighten up a little bit, as with every loud clap of a kick pad against feet, the slap of skin against artificial leather and the bouncing of the balls of his feet against the rubberized floors grounded him a little bit. Not to mention the spontaneous photoshoot Angel’s mother had subjected all five of them, which by the end of it, Jongin’s cheeks had nearly seized up.

 

Of course, the insistent tugging of little white belts on the bottoms of his doubt and the ends of his belt, followed by the excited questions of who he was and the unconcealed amazement in their eyes as Jongin did a few complex kicks with the new coach, was very much hard to miss.

 

It helped fill the void. Somewhat.

 

Now he had to get late Christmas presents because to be honest, he didn’t exactly account for four extra people. Jongin sighed as he closed the car door, he needed his mother’s help for this one.

 

 

[ i.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658259) [ii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658289) [iii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658298) [iv.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658337) [v.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658352) [vi.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658382)

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Jongin had somehow secured his friends some Christmas gifts through some last-minute shopping with his mother, immensely thankful for the promotions still around for the remainder of the year. Though he was going to cry about his credit card bills when he came back to Seoul, he had to be in the spirit of giving, at least for a duration of three days.

 

He had spent so much time around the mall that the smell of oud clung to his clothes, the thick cloying scene making him scrunch his nose. Not that he minds it, the earthy smell was very much welcome, but his mother had always complained about it being too strong sometimes.

 

A forty-minute drive later and armed with a paper bag full of other paper bags, Jongin was finally back in ISG campus grounds, with his parents behind him with a bucket of chicken from Popeyes in their arms. It was hard to choose something to bring when both of his parents refused to cook something because of their busy schedules. Jongin’s father was still busy training some new engineers at the firm, and his mother was still preparing a new lesson plan for the next semester after the winter break.

 

Children would prefer deep fried chicken over anything anyways, and Jongin could hear the subtle ‘fuck it’ in his parents’ choice. While holding the bags in one arm, he struggled to pull his beanie over his head as a hard gust of dust blew over him in the parking lot. As they arrived, Jill came bouncing towards him and his parents, offering to help them with the food.

 

After the pleasantries were done, Angel’s mother was determined to make him eat his entire body mass in Shanghai rolls and Filipino style spaghetti, which in hindsight would make all his skinny jeans tedious to get into, with Batman making himself comfortable on Jongin’s sweats on the carpeted floor of his bedroom as he jumped around to make them sit on his hips properly.

 

Yerim came a little bit later, with someone familiar behind her. Irene Bae, in the flesh and as beautiful as ever. It reminded Jongin of the time Kyungsoo had confessed her affections toward her in an impromptu game of truth or dare in English back before they even dated, but to be honest, if she wasn’t like his sister already, he would’ve vied for her affections too.

 

“Oppa! Look who’s here?” She yelled excitedly, before wrapping her arms as greeting. Irene smiled behind her, the cool wind blowing her ponytail around. “I’ll let you and unnie talk.” The youngest of the three grinned up at Jongin, before meeting up with her friends.

 

Irene crossed her arms, pulling her denim jacket closer to herself. “Long time no see, Jongin.” She greeted, smiling as Jongin only opened his arms in response. She had walked in them and was immediately engulfed in his arms. Jongin squeezed at her until she squealed, pushing at his waist. “Hey! I can’t breathe.” Irene whined out into his chest, before he finally let go.

 

“Not my fault you’re small.” Jongin laughed out, ducking away from her swats as they walked side by side to where he was sitting with the kids, the sound of loud music and screeching children making conversation difficult.

 

After some fussing with some of the parents welcoming them, and a little boy who kept following Irene who had shyly declared she was very pretty and handed her a candy cane, the night was great. They met some of the kids they formerly taught as part time back in high school, and Jongin was sure his cheeks were going to cramp up with the number of pictures they took in the middle of the party.

 

Yerim and her bunch of friends had more to laugh about when fact a mother had smiled up at Jongin and Irene when she handed them a plastic plate and utensils as they lined up for food, asking them which kid was theirs. Irene had looked at woman with wide eyes, while Jongin could only mumble a couple of words at her, shaking his head.

 

Angel chose to speak for them, because Jongin had this weird expression on his face which was a mixed of confused and affronted. “Ay, _tita_. They aren’t a couple! They were students here before!” The lady had apologized, but Irene merely said it was a mistake. She had turned to Jongin as they were helping themselves to the food and asked him quietly in Korean. _“You seem so horrified at the thought of having kids with me earlier.”_

 

Jongin looked up from his small mountain of spaghetti, chicken and numerous Filipino desserts he forgot the names of piled high on his plate to look at Irene, shaking his head. “The thought of having kids was the horrible thing, to be honest.” He replied, making Irene throw her head back in laughter as they walked back to their table.  “I can’t raise small humans, when I’m an oversized child myself.”

 

They talked over how life was there in the kingdom, about their academics and plans for university, and suddenly, a rather enthusiastic retelling from Jill about Carlo winning MVP from the competition held a few weeks ago, which made the boy blush from the attention. In the middle of Jill’s loud commentary on the video Khalid had provided of the match on his phone, Angel had somehow magically procured some paper bags and was handing them to everyone on the table. “Merry Christmas!”

 

They all had matching shirts with their initials on the chest pocket, and while everyone was fawning over Angel’s gift, Jongin had finally reached into his own bag, giving them their gifts as well and opting to open his own presents after they had all opened it.

 

Jill immediately launched herself at Jongin, hugging him as tight as she possibly could. “ _Kuya_! You remembered!” She had excitedly yelled, while clutching at a K-pop album in her hands. “Well, you did ask if I could get you one a week before I could leave so…” Jongin trailed off, patting her head. “Merry Christmas. I guess, even if I look better than those guys on that album.”

 

He got a couple more enthusiastic and excited yells of thanks from the other two teens, Yerim already wore her beanie immediately, and Angel tried her sweater too. The two boys gave Jongin less lively thanks and shy smiles as they unwrapped their gifts, while Irene elbowed Jongin discreetly under the table. “How come I don’t have a gift?”

 

Jongin reached out and tapped her on the shoulder, apologizing. “I’ll just treat you to drinks when we get back to Seoul, how’s about that?” Irene pretended to think the offer over, but eventually nodded and hushed Jongin when he made a comment about her new love for alcohol in university in front of her younger cousin. “Shut up!”

 

When Jongin groaned about not being able to breathe in his jeans, Irene got up and offered him to join her on a walk around the premises. He had accepted, patting Yerim on the back to whisper where they were going, before letting her get back into a heated debate about who would win whatever in the upcoming regional competitions. “So, I didn’t catch you last year. How are things?” The older asked when they turned a corner, looking up at Jongin who had his hands in his hoodie.

 

Winter was colder this year, it seemed. Jongin packed on more layers this year, his bomber couldn’t shield him from the cold properly, so he wore a grey hoodie underneath. Irene was the same too.

 

“Ah, same old same old.” Jongin thought. Irene wouldn’t judge him for it, so he might as well come clean about it. “Actually, not really, I shifted programs last year, and I’m a few units shy from graduating now.” Irene smiled at him, small yet sincere, bumping her shoulder against his arm. “Hey, congrats. That’s great.”

 

“You?”

 

“Ah, financial accounting has me dying.” She commented offhandedly as they walked past the football field, walking towards the football lying in the middle of it to kick it around. Jongin gave a sympathetic hiss in reply to her, shaking his head as he tried to kick it away from her but failing. “True.”

 

When Irene seemed to notice Jongin disinterest on the ball, she instead sat on the field. “Thought you’d be more interested in balls, but I guess not.” Jongin merely snorted at the jab, grinning when he grabbed her hood and pulled it over her head, making her shriek. “I saw what you did there, Bae, and that was evil.” Irene managed to tame her hair after Jongin’s stunt, watching him lay like a starfish on the faux grass beside her.

 

“I missed this place.” Jongin said quietly as he stared up into the sky, trying to find Orion’s belt in the stars. “The school, or Saudi?” Quipped Irene, who had leaned back to stare at the sky as well. The lack of skyscrapers in Dammam made the sky clear of light pollution, making the moon and stars shine brighter in the sky.

 

“Both, but to be honest its more of the latter.” Jongin turned his gaze to the Irene for a moment, before going back to the sky. “Sometimes, I think more of this place as home than I do in Korea. I miss everything about this place, it just seems just so…chill, I guess.” He explained, crossing his legs and tucking his arms below his head. “I love Korea and how independent I became there, but this place has a special place in here.” He patted his chest.

 

Irene made an approving hum, sighing. “That’s true, shame our residency permits costs a ton to renew now. I would’ve loved to work here, but I remembered, I’m a woman. I have no place here unless I’m a teacher, or a nurse.”

 

“Same.”

 

A short bout of silence fell over them as they sat there, listening to the wind blow and the muted music a few buildings away. Irene chose to let her hair down, absentmindedly playing with the hair tie as they looked at each other, shivering at the lowering temperature.

 

“Did you notice Jill and Carlo, or was that just me?” Jongin shook his head as Irene changed the topic. “I saw them holding hands under the table. Young love, am I right?” He said, spotting Irene’s sudden smirk on the corner of his eyes and reaching over to pull on the edge of her jeans to pull out whatever was on her mind. “Just like yours?”

 

A huff was all Irene got as a reply. She stared at Jongin, and his face, but saw no emotion there and decided not to pry instead and tried to divert the topic at hand again but he answered before she got to. “I hope not. Mine was sort of tragic.” He grinned at her, tinged with sadness and disappointment.

 

Kyungsoo was an inevitable topic between them, so why not just open Pandora’s box again to someone who knew at least half of the story. Maybe it could alleviate some of the sadness, and without alcohol, Jongin had nothing to do to help bottle up the feelings, and it seemed like he was going to violate Irene’s privacy if he went out on a limb and asked if she had cigarettes on her.

 

Age had changed both of them, chasing dreams that weren’t theirs needed new fuels to keep them up and running. Jongin had turned to stress eating, and the occasional shot of brandy (or bottle) with his friends back in Korea. Irene, as he found out from her private twitter account, turned to Marlboro lights in the midnight.

 

Truth be told, Jongin hadn’t experienced being dead drunk since he was always the last one left to take care of his friends with shitty alcohol tolerances, making sure that they didn’t choke on their own vomit or trip over their slippers on the way back to their dorms. His arms still hurt when he had to carry Sehun back to his room when he started sprouting nonsense after half a bottle of Absolut on a team building party.

 

“Young love is stupid.” Jongin started, gauging her reaction. “You think you’re ready because this guy is there, and his heart is being offered on a platter to you, and you do the dumb thing and offer yours to him too. When dumb shit happens, you just run away instead of taking your heart back. Sounds fake deep, I know.”

 

A hand came on his shin to pat it fondly. “Hey, you loved him once, don’t invalidate it.”

 

“I wish I didn’t, just so I wouldn’t feel like this anymore. This is like, the worst hangover in history.” Came the exhausted reply, before a jacketed arm came to lay over his eyes. “Ow, fuck. I forgot I had glasses on.” Jongin removed his glasses and went back to his position. “I was with Yerim you know, the morning his mom called to tell my aunt and uncle what happened.”

 

Jongin kept mum, and Irene saw this as a sign to keep talking. “I couldn’t believe it. I was never that close to him, but it still hurt. I can’t imagine what it was for you.” She said quietly. 

 

“He liked you, you know.” Replied the younger after almost two minutes of silence, removing the arm over his eyes so he could sit up and look Irene in the eyes. “Like he really did, he told me the afternoon after he blurted it out in class. He was so embarrassed.”

 

“The one with Mrs. Cruz in Junior year?” Irene laughed out, and a semblance of a smile made its way on Jongin’s face. “Yeah. He liked you, but he didn’t like you enough to date you.” She smiled as Jongin made a move to sit beside her properly, lending her his beanie to shield her from the cold. He opted to just use his hood instead, tying it at the chin tightly.

 

“Maybe he said that so he could make you feel better about the whole crush thing, and I can’t believe you and Kyungsoo turned me down at one point in my life.” She cocked her head to the side while hugging her knees close. “I can’t believe you still remember that,” The older broke into a laugh when she caught sight of Jongin. “You look ridiculous, oh my god.”

 

“Of course, I do. Cate asked me if I got jealous, but I wasn’t even sure who she was referring to, so I just said no, and number two, you are way out of our league.” Jongin bumped his shoulder against her, before making a move of wrapping his arm around her and patting the opposite shoulder.

 

“This was the move he pulled on me when he first hit on me. Remember that scrapbook project that I almost cried while presenting because I had no idea we were going to do it in front of the whole class, because I filled it up with embarrassing baby pictures?”

 

“Yes.” He moved away from Irene to put some distance between them in case a wondering parent wouldn’t have any suspicions of them canoodling in a football field. “I didn’t know it was a move back then.” Jongin said, putting air quotation marks on the word move. “I only realized it when my friend did it to some girl he liked.”

 

“Oh my god Jongin, you were clueless. And you were really not jealous?”

 

Jongin looked at Irene over his tucked knees and gave her a shy smile before looking away, hiding the bashful curl of his lips and his lowered gaze. “Of you, yeah. My god, you were the closest thing to perfection any boy or girl this school has ever seen.” Irene blushed over the compliment, Jongin was just letting one rip consecutively that night. “If I wasn’t so confused over my feelings with Kyungsoo, I would’ve had a crush on you too.”

 

Irene sensed a _but_ in that sentence, so she decided to raise an eyebrow. “But?”

 

“I liked him more, but I ruined it.” Jongin sighed, before resigning back to his starfish position on the grass.

 

Irene reached out to take Jongin’s larger hand into his, warming his cold and paling palm between both of hers as she pulled him back up. She scooted closer, so she could cradle it properly. “What happened? You never really told me why you moved schools here in Dhahran too. All I know it was September and you were in section C.” She asked when Jongin finally looked back at her from his tucked knees. “People thought we were dating, and you followed me here, even though I knew about you and Kyungsoo.”

 

Jongin pressed his lips in a thin line, staring at the line of posters across the field of the football team instead of the person beside him. “We broke up over the summer.” He stated quietly, wiggling his fingers in Irene’s grasp, but didn’t make a move to pull it out. The older girl gave him a worried look as he shrugged his shoulders. “He said he just wanted to be friends again.” The brunet said passively, but it was as clear as the night sky that the story, however many times he had shared it, still stung with phantom pains.

 

“I was hurt, so I said some nasty things.” He shook his head as his voice grew thick with emotion. “He promised me so many things when I told him my parents were moving me here, about how he’ll make the effort to visit me here and whatever.” Jongin wiped at his face with his unpreoccupied hand, but there were no tears yet. “Kyungsoo said we could try a long-distance relationship since I was practically moving schools in another city, but that all suddenly went to shit.”

 

“It’s not really a long-distance relationship though.” Irene reminded him, but Jongin didn’t seem to listen. “It might as well be, plus we can’t go on dates here.” Jongin responded, knowing Irene would know what he meant about the conservative and religious norms the country still followed.

 

“You know, Irene, I thought that the day I got suspended was the end of my troubles. I thought nothing more could top the time I got called to the prefect’s office in the middle of class, just so they can hand me a letter and call my parents about what happened.”

 

Irene’s gasp and the tightening of her hands around his was the only response he needed. Might as well just lay his cards on the table. “Second semester. Around midterms.” Jongin pressed his lips together, his cheeks dimpling before he heaved a deep breath, as if he was contemplating on saying something.

 

“The day I got suspended, Kyungsoo kissed me that afternoon.” He confessed, eyes glued to the sky, searching for something even he didn’t know what. He kissed me and promised me things that I was stupid enough to believe, and when he didn’t keep those promises, I didn’t know what to do.” Jongin breathed out, his voice shaky but he didn’t cry.

 

“I was sixteen, and I grabbed onto the first sign of love and appreciation I felt from someone else and gave them all I had. When we broke things off, I didn’t just lose someone I loved, I lost my best friend. I lost the person who had had the patience to pull me out of my head.” Jongin found himself staring at the skin of his hand, trying to find the thin scars that used to litter his skin there, but they’ve faded over the years despite how vividly he remembered the sharp sting of the blade in the darkness of his room.

 

“I moved here I was depressed, I didn’t have any friends. I just thought, at least I’ve already hit rock bottom. There’s no other place I can end up anymore, so I decided to pour myself into academics to at least fulfill dreams we built together by myself.” Irene reached out to wipe the stray tear that made it down Jongin’s face with the edge of her sleeve. The younger gave her hands a brief squeeze on return for the comfort she’s provided him.

 

He looked at Irene in the eyes and smiled, shaking his head. “Sorry to just dump this on you, all of a sudden.” He said, finally tugging at his hand to pull it away from her grasp. “And it was so cold here too.” He commented, zipping his bomber jacket up to his chin.

 

She shook her hand, telling him that it was fine, and the weather wasn’t so bad, but Jongin seemed to be so used to immediately clamming up again, even if he seemed to be more open and outgoing now. She gave his arm a playful punch to change things up. “You gonna train while you’re here?” That seemed to be a safe topic, judging from the pondering expression on Jongin’s face.

 

“Yup, I’ve been to two trainings already. You should come so we could do some kickings again.” Jongin nudged Irene with his knee, who had nodded in acquiescence. “Wanna go to the playground? I wanna go to the swings.” Jongin muttered lackadaisically, getting up as he let conversation die between them.

 

“Sure.”

 

\--

 

Jongin couldn’t even hold in the glee when he spotted the swing set, immediately breaking into a run despite his sneakers sinking into the sand to sit on one of the swings. He grinned at Irene, who took her time to walk to the swings with the ends of her abaya in her hands, before sitting on the swing gingerly while the younger pushed his feet into the sand for momentum.

 

“I really want a drink right now.” Jongin yelled out as he swung beside Irene, laughing as he dug his feet harder and pushed his knees into the sands again, making him go higher.

 

“Hey, you haven’t opened your gifts yet.” She stated, reaching at Jongin’s bag which was haphazardly thrown on the sand by the adjacent monkey bars. The younger boy slowed his swings and took it from her hands, thanking her before pulling out a gift with obnoxious red wrapping.

 

“Oh, it’s from Yerim.” Hands busy with picking at the tape, he had finally found an opening and ripped it apart, turning it around to get a better look at the book’s title. “I don’t know how to tell Yerim that I already have this.” He laughed as he waved the book around aimlessly, piquing the older girl’s interest. “Can I see that?” Jongin passed it over to her before he swung himself gently, making patterns with his feet on the sand below.

 

“ _History Is All You Left Me_ , by Adam Silvera. I read it while I was waiting for the processing of defense papers last semester.” Irene looked up from the book while reading the synopsis and reviews at the back. “Want me to spoil you?” Jongin asked with a sullen tone. “Go ahead.”

 

“The main character, Griffin, has an ex that dies, but after an excruciating amount of time, he finally gets to move on after his ex’s death.” The older girl noticed that Jongin’s voice had grown quieter, the creaking of the chains on the swing he was sitting on almost drowned his voice. “And you haven’t?”

 

Irene asked beside him, eyes gentle and unjudging. “I don’t think so. No, I don’t think I ever will.” Jongin looked up from his clasped hands in his lap and stared at Irene. Her hair blew in the wind, and she had this look tinged with irritation as she tamed her hair, still looking ethereal under the quad lights, but she could never compare to Kyungsoo. No matter how smart, or how beautiful she was, no one could ever compare to Kyungsoo.

 

“You’ll get there.” Irene offered gently beside him, her foot nudging his swing. Jongin spared her a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, nodding to convince himself.

 

The moment was broken up from the loud conversation coming behind them, and Jongin decided to dig his feet into the sand, swinging harder when Yerim and the whole bunch came towards them. “There they are, we’ve been looking for you at the field. Mom’s been looking for you two.”

 

“We moved here, Jongin wanted to swing.” She pointed to Jongin, who was very much preoccupied with trying to get higher but stopped when he heard his name being mentioned. “Do we need to go now?”

 

“Yep, they want more pictures apparently.”

 

Khalid sighed beside them, apologizing about his mother’s incessant pleas to get them together, so that she could post them later on Facebook. Jill just shrugged and whipped her own phone out, reasoning out they could take their own pictures now, knowing how her photos would turn out better than what her parents may take later.

 

Plus, she was severely conscious of her Instagram feed, and rather pushy about how she wanted the photos to look, animatedly talking about this new app she discovered a few weeks ago. Jongin and Irene gave each other a tired look, but nonetheless relented to their requests for pictures, even if they were taking them with people they barely knew back in the venue of the party.

 

When they were getting ready to leave, some last-minute pleasantries were thrown around between Jongin’s family and Irene and Yerim’s, as well as setting up some plans Jongin was sure he was going to flake away from.

 

Both girls approached him and gave him another tight hug, Irene’s noticeably longer and tighter than Yerim’s. They were sure their parents were going to have another bout of trying to set them up together, like they have done back in high school. Unbeknownst to them, Irene had an American boyfriend waiting back for her in Korea, and Jongin, well, was Jongin.

 

“Talk soon, Jongin.” “See you, oppa!”

 

Jongin waved to them from the open window of their car as his father rolled back into the parking lot, and before he knew it, they were on the highway back to the Dammam. His earpods pulsed with the random album that came into shuffle from his iPod mingled with some snippets of his parents’ conversation about some controversy regarding the instructors.

 

He knew not to pry, so he chose to focus on what was lingering on his mind all evening, especially when he had unearthed it again during his conversation with Irene in the field and playground earlier. Jongin thought about that afternoon in the time between the late winter and early spring, and all the promises made between him and Kyungsoo with that kiss.

 

Jongin has never imagined his first kiss to be like that; it was supposed to be after a month of two of being official, which him and Kyungsoo never got the chance to be.

 

It was never supposed to be after being called to the prefect of discipline's office after being told of his three-day suspension for supposedly setting up the plan of leaking the content of the final midterm exam of the year.

 

It was supposed to take him by surprise, it was supposed to be romantic, sweet and make butterflies flutter in his stomach and makes his knees grown weak at the sheer moment of it all.

 

It was never supposed to be after finding out that he was going to lose his place in the year ranking and demoted from the third place to the sixth instead due to his failure to maintain a good conduct.

 

He was supposed to be happy; even to the point of having the fucking giggles. He wasn't supposed to be dragged away the moment he walked out of the office with the notice of suspension on one hand as far as possible by Kyungsoo, struggling to keep up with the elder as sobs threatened to rip themselves from the base of Jongin’s throat.

 

Jongin wasn’t supposed to be struggling to breathe as he slid down the wall in a deserted hallway to land hard on his ass as his knees gave up. His first kiss was supposed to be the start of every opportunity between him and Kyungsoo, not the signal of his whole world falling apart.

 

Kyungsoo had his glasses hooked on his breast pocket as he knelt down in front of him, taking Jongin's unoccupied hand while he watched Jongin’s chest heave with every shaky sob that escaped from red bitten lips. The school board made their decision and judging from the way Jongin reacted, it wasn't good.

 

He felt Kyungsoo’s gentle hands cup his cheeks, calloused thumbs wiping away the tear tracks off his skin. "What did they say?" Despite his tear blurred eyes, he could tell that Kyungsoo was worried about him; brows knitted together and brown eyes distraught.

 

"Suspension." The younger shook his head, features scrunching in something akin to frustration. "Three days." He ran a hand thru his hair and ruffled it roughly, a habit he developed when mad.

 

"Jongin, breathe." Kyungsoo’s voice was quiet, almost a whisper as he coached Jongin to calm his breathing before he passed out on the floor. "Come on, in and out."

 

"It's over. All over." Jongin hissed, glaring at the envelope in his hands before wiping his tears off with a fist. "No, it's not, Jongin." The elder adjusted his position that he was sitting between the younger’s legs on his shins and sweeping the dark sweat matted hair from his forehead. "You don't understand!" A sigh escaped Kyungsoo's lips, an angry Jongin was a Jongin who never listened.

 

"I didn't even do anything; I just told her offhandedly to look at the test if she wanted to, I didn't expect her to actually do it."

 

"Why didn't you tell them that?"

 

"Kyungsoo, do you honestly believe that my single statement will win against the fabricated statement they all made against me?" He was close to having another episode of hysterics before Kyungsoo pulled him close, heart clenching at every sob that racked the taller male's form in his arms. "My parents are going to be so mad. I disappointed them."

 

Kyungsoo just let tightened his hold around Jongin's shoulders, trying his best to ignore the growing stain on his uniform where his eyes were near.

 

" They might make me leave this school. They might make me leave you. I don’t want to leave you, Kyungsoo." Jongin whispered brokenly, and all of a sudden, Kyungsoo felt the sharpness in his nose and the telltale dryness of his throat.

 

He pulled Jongin’s away and looked deep into the other’s eyes, not knowing that he had already started crying until the younger ran the back of his hand on his jaw to swipe the tears off. Kyungsoo inched closer so that he and Jongin were mere centimeters apart, noses brushing together.

 

At their close proximity right now, the elder male could count every long lash on Jongin’s lids, every tear that threatened to fall. Kyungsoo’s shaky breath fanned over his lips before he was suddenly too close for Jongin to breathe.

 

Their first kiss was nothing compared to Jongin’s dreams. It tasted like saltwater and unconditional love, with staccato breaths against soft lips.

 

The press of velvet lips against his dry and chapped ones was gentle and had his head reeling at this soft yet firm lock of their lips. It was almost scared and way too brief for Jongin’s liking. The sound of their parting lips was loud in the otherwise deserted quiet hall, the elementary kids were already long home, Jongin thankfully thought. A brush of lips against his and fingers against his scalp calmed him down slightly. “We’ll make this work no matter what happens okay?”

 

“I’m sorry Kyungsoo. I’m sorry for disappointing you—” The younger male doesn’t remember when his hands ended on Kyungsoo’s chest, fingers gripping the white button up the elder was wearing. Jongin wasn’t sure where the guilt gnawing in his gut was from anymore; maybe from disappointing his parents, or maybe it was the impending heartbreak he was both setting them up for.

 

Kyungsoo felt Jongin’s hesitance and pulled away, focused on his still closed eyes. “You have nothing to apologize about. I’m always here for you Jon, remember that.” Lids opened revealing dark obsidians, with the same resolute hardness to them as they focused on the kneeling male’s lips.

 

“I’ll never leave you, Jongin. I promise that.” Jongin’s chest swelled with emotion as Kyungsoo leaned in to press their lips again. Kyungsoo curled his fingers into the shorter locks of dark brown hair of Jongin’s nape and slanted his lips with him a little forcefully than he anticipated, the younger keening at the sudden action but made no moves to push him away.

 

Jongin leaned more into the kiss, and he didn’t know why he was suddenly so brave to have reciprocated that when Kyungsoo moved his head in the opposite direction, hands warm on his nape and lips wet against his. The kiss bordered on not being chaste anymore with the way the older was pressing so firmly, letting out a soft sigh as he sucked on the other’s lower lip a little longer.

 

The position is awkward, with the way his neck his craned upward to meet with the elder’s actions and Kyungsoo sitting on his shins, but Jongin didn’t mind it at all with how his heartbeat thrummed in his ears and every shaky intake of breath as his fingers curled into the back of Kyungsoo’s shirt.

 

Emotions too heavy or unpredictable to be conveyed by words were exchanged with the rather intimate lip lock, from to one desperate heart to another one seeking assurance.

 

Jongin’s hand landed in the middle of Kyungsoo’s chest as they separated, and their eyes met, warm browns and dark obsidians swimming deep in emotions. The shrill ring of Jongin’s phone made them lose eye contact and Kyungsoo looked scared once the deed done sunk into his crevices of his mind, a flushed scarlet had spread across his pale cheeks.

 

“It’s my dad.” Kyungsoo suddenly blanched at the sight of Jongin’s dad’s number flashing on the LCD of his phone, shooting Jongin a tired look as he moved beside him, thighs side by side. “He’s outside.” The younger looked at the semi crumpled envelope shoved unceremoniously in the deep pocket of his uniform slacks, the white parchment stark against navy blue.

 

Jongin remembered shooting on his feet, but the shorter’s fingers are filling the gaps between his tanned fingers briefly stopped him from running off. Kyungsoo kept their eyes locked until he pulled away and the rough strap of his book bag replaced the slender appendages. “Tell me what happens okay?” Kyungsoo looked at him, voice gentle and cautious.

 

“I’ll try. If they don’t put me under complete lockdown.” He pressed his lips into a tight line when Kyungsoo was on his feet as well, pulling him for the tightest hug of the evening. “I’ll wait. Tell me what happens when you come back to school okay?” He murmured into Jongin’s ear as he squeezed him tight, ignoring the wetness on his shoulder where Jongin buried his face.

 

A nod and tight-lipped smiles were exchanged one last time before Kyungsoo pressed another kiss on his lips again, foreheads together. “I love you, Jongin.” Jongin felt a new wave of emotion erupt in his chest as he reluctantly let go, if he didn’t, he would never have the power to anymore. He wished he had enough strength in him back then to tell Kyungsoo that, _yes, I love you too._

 

_I love you, Kyungsoo._

 

Four years later, Jongin still wished he said the same thing to Kyungsoo.

 

\--

 

“You spent some time with Irene tonight. What you two do?” His mother asked as he helped her put away the food Jill’s mother had kindly packed for them in the fridge to make room for the batch of fresh kimchi he had helped her make. Jongin shrugged, busy crouching in front of their fridge and pushing the take away Tupperware into the shelves, his nose wrinkling at the red pepper paste stains on his jeans. “Talk.”

 

“About?” She prodded gently with another Tupperware packed tightly with Kimchi she passed to Jongin. Jongin ducked his head to roll his eyes, her curiosity was teeming just from her tone. If he turned around, he was sure to see a similar expression on her face. “Uni. We caught up about stuff.” He said with a tone of finality, hoping she could take a hint.

 

“Are you thinking of courting her, Jongin? Joohyun is a great girl. Smart, and very very pretty.” Jongin stood up after finally sorting through the fridge properly. He shook his head in anticipation of the matchmaking talk his mother was going to give him again. Jongin smiled, putting his hands on his mother’s shoulders. “Mom, Irene and I are friends. We are going to stay as friends.”

 

Nodding, she didn’t pry anymore. “If you say so, Jongin.”

 

“Exactly. I’m going to bed, good night, Mom.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, grinning at the fond ruffling she did on his hair. “Good night.”

 

Batman came walking around Jongin’s ankles as he brushed his teeth in the bathroom, sitting down by his feet expectantly. Jongin stared at the pup’s excited face, he figured out why he was being especially clingy. “Okay, you can sleep in my room tonight. Come on.” Jongin signaled, the little Shibe trotting happily beside him on the way to his bedroom.

 

Jongin lied about sleeping immediately, the bright glare of his laptop stinging his eyes as he looked at Kyungsoo’s facebook profile and the unchanging display picture of him with in a purple jacket and a DLSR camera clutched in his hands, smiling softly at another camera.

 

The blinking caret seemed to egg Jongin on as he stared at the bottom right corner of his screen, looking at the open chat box with Kyungsoo’s name over it. Jongin couldn’t count how many times he had wished a reply would pop up if he had sent the message he had typed in a frenzy just mere few seconds ago, as if he was trying to convince that the past three years had been just one giant fever dream and he’d wake up the next morning with a reply from Kyungsoo.

 

 

**Jonathan Kim**

_Hey Kyungsoo. Can we talk?_

In another life, Kyungsoo would reply.

 

**Doh Kyungsoo**

_Sure. What’s going on?_

 

\--

 

Christmas Eve was terrible.

 

Jongin had woken up sweating under his hoodie, his head throbbing and unable to breathe through one nostril.

 

He had a fucking cold. Checking the time, he had woken up around seven in the morning. Yes, he was definitely sick—he’d never wake up this early willingly. He reached for his phone and opened his messenger app to talk to Irene, who thankful was active at the time.

 

**Jonathan Kim**

_Irene_

_I’m fucking dying_

 

**Irene Bae**

_Yep_

_Why_

**Jonathan**

_I have a fucking cold_

 

**Irene**

_Ooh shit_

_But same_

_I can’t taste anything_

 

**Jonathan**

_I can’t fuckinh breathe_

_I want to die_

 

 

Jongin’s mother had immediately fussed about him as he trudged to the living room with squinted eyes with Batman trotting to his dad as a message of ‘ _Please feed me._ ’ He sat down on the couch, slouching so he could shield his eyes away from the bright light. “This is why you shouldn’t have stayed outside last night.” She lectured, passing a box of flu medicine and a glass for water to Jongin, who was busy cursing the day he was born as he cradled his head.

 

“Go eat something first before drinking that, then rest. Hopefully, you’ll be well enough later.” She had kindly poured a bowl of cereal for him before disappearing in their bedroom in a flurry of towels and bags, she was getting ready to go to work just for a few hours. His dad was sitting across him, sipping on his coffee quietly as Batman munched on his food in the kitchen.

 

Jongin would say domestic bliss if he didn’t cough so hard that his dog was the one who came running to see what the commotion was.

 

As soon as his parents left for some last-minute work, Jongin fell back asleep, grateful for the sleep inducing cold medicine. He was woken up by his phone’s incessant ringing with a kakao talk notifications from his friends’ groupchat, trudging over to the other end of his room to scroll through them since he could actually feel more alive than he felt a few hours ago.

 

He would’ve appreciated their thought to message him despite the time differences it if he wasn’t about to scroll through hundreds of messages as he sat back on his bed, trying to figure himself out. Sehun was sending Christmas stickers nonstop but stopped when supposedly a notification came out that Jongin was finally online.

 

He immediately greeted Jongin a Merry Christmas, followed by a selfie of him Chanyeol, in what seemed to be an onsen, dressed in bright blue robes. Sehun’s parents were both busy people, and as long as Sehun didn’t slack off in his academics, they were willing to let him do anything he wanted—even if it meant spending the holidays in a foreign country with his boyfriend.

 

Jongin replied as best he could with one eye open, and the other concealed under his multiple blankets, asking if they could just have a video call instead. They had all obliged, and Sehun first came into view, a fancy hotel room behind him, Wendy’s frame in his cracked screen showed a window, where the morning light shone on fallen snow, before her smiling face came into view. She had flown back to Canada to spend the time with her family, it seemed.

 

 _“Hi! Merry Christmas! Even if it’s only the twenty third here. Also, Sehun where are you?”_ She greeted, just as Taemin and Seulgi’s faces came into view. They seemed to be together, laughing into eachother’s sides as they walked through familiar streets. Seulgi’s muffled voice spoke out over Taemin’s hissed cussing, the crunch of snow and loud conversations prominent from the audio, saying they were getting last minute food orders, and they hadn’t expected it to be this cold.

 

“You guys are spending Christmas together?” Jongin had rasped out, still unwilling to move away from his cocoon of warmth. Taemin answered this time. _“My mother was ecstatic that I finally found a girlfriend and invited Seul and her family for Christmas Eve dinner. If only she remembered all her food orders, we wouldn’t be in negative seven-degree weather in Myeondong_.” He had complained, before getting into a cab with Seulgi. _“How’s Christmas there, Jongin?”_

 

“Still very unchristmassy, my parents are still at work. This guy’s all my company until they get home.” Jongin patted his side, calling for the dog. “Batman, come—ow!” The little dog had come running, jumping up Jongin’s bed and stepping on his rib in the process of curling up against Jongin. Wendy and Sehun had cooed almost in unison at the Shiba’s almost smiling face, and Sehun’s excited chatter had filled the audio, excitedly showing Chanyeol Jongin’s dog. “ _Oh, by the way, we’re in Japan.”_

 

The older man had grinned up the sight of Batman, greeting everyone kindly as he came into view, hair wet and wrapped up in robe. Taemin had smiled wickedly from the grainy frame, switching to English as not to get yelled at by the cab driver for what sounded like a crass innuendo. “ _Looks like Santa won’t be the only one coming tonight, huh Sehun?_ ”

 

Jongin had erupted in laughter, while Wendy hissed as she tried to control her laughter as she ran up the stairs. “ _Taemin, I don’t have earphones on!”_ Sehun flushed, raising his middle finger to the camera. As much as Sehun overshared about things and rumours in the Accountancy department, he was terribly secretive about his relationship with Chanyeol, who was an alumnus of Jongin’s program.

 

 _“When are you guys getting back? We miss you!”_ Seulgi had said, her cheeks scrunching as she smiled over her oversized scarf, a gift from Jongin in their yearly exchange gift that he had given before he had left for the kingdom. Taemin squeezed his face against hers, an effort to make them both fit in the range of the camera. “Yeah, when are you guys coming back, because we have a thesis to finish.”

 

Sehun rolled his eyes while Jongin snorted, shaking his head as he petted Batman’s back, the dog’s wet nose pressing against his jaw _. “And I thought the holidays were depressing this year, and you just had to remind me.”_

 

The now blond Sehun commented too, rolling on his back to lean against the headboard. _“I am going to drink my entire body weight tonight after dinner in an attempt to drink myself dead, just to avoid reading through the revisions Professor Martinez had sent us.”_ He frowned, referring to their International Business professor, and one of their thesis advisers.

 

Wendy giggled, shaking her head. _“Hey, we have until the twenty second of January to worry about that. Just get through the holidays for now, I know I have been trying to avoid a certain aunt in every family gathering, but this Christmas and New Year’s, I have to sit through her lecture me about my looks and lack of spouse again.”_

 

Seulgi had shouted a _‘Stay strong!’_ while Sehun gave her a sympathetic hum. _“That’s going to take a lot of wine.”_ To which all of them had agreed. The brunette had sighed, shaking her head. _“I think I’m just going to stay shit faced until the New Year’s.”_

 

Jongin frowned, heaving a dramatic sigh from his chest. “All this talk about alcohol but I can’t drink here.” He whined, to which Taemin’s screen shifted—looks like they were finally home—and showed him cradling a case of soju in his arms and shimming his shoulders, Seulgi’s laughter loud in the audio. _“Wow Taem,”_ Sehun called out. _“Your family can drink.”_

 

 _“If I don’t reply for the next few days, consider me dead of either alcohol poisoning or eating too much.”_ Taemin called out while he lugged around a few bags of food to the kitchen, where his mother was yelling out orders on what to do first. _“Christmas eve is terrible. I’m going to be eating the same food until the 30 th.” _

 

Jongin agreed, telling them about the absurd amount of pasta and chicken in their fridge from last night’s party. “I have a feeling I’ll be eating pasta for breakfast until New Year’s.” He mussed, finally gathering the strength to get out of bed to heat some of said pasta.

 

Seulgi’s face came into view, Taemin nowhere to be seen. _“Hey guys, I think Taem and I gotta go. We gotta help with the food here.”_ Wendy also bid them goodbye, something about helping her older sister with last minute Christmas shopping. _“I gotta go too, see you guys soon!”_

 

Then it was Sehun and Jongin left, and Jongin had trudged out in the dining room with his plate of fettucine in one hand and his phone in the other. Sehun wrinkled his nose at the sight of the other’s sleep mussed hair, to which Jongin had shrugged, taking the comment in stride.

 

“Dammam is literally six hours late from Hokkaido. I can’t really be bothered to get Christmassy when it looks like Father Christmas threw up in our living room.” He replied, taking sips of his coffee as he bitched about the holidays.

 

Sehun’s frown deepened but didn’t comment on it. He and Jongin were the closest in their little circle of friends, and he knew of Jongin’s aversion to the holidays, and the days of early January that followed. Jongin had told him about Kyungsoo in their freshman year of university, after Sehun’s break up with his then boyfriend, Lu Han.

 

Jongin didn’t even flinch when he had told him everything, seemingly used to the sting of the story he told a selected few. Sehun honestly had thought Jongin was pulling his leg, just trying to get a reaction out of him as he struggled with balancing a journal assigned as homework in the campus library, but with the lack of a provoking eyebrow and the familiar expression of Jongin holding in his laughter, he knew he was telling the truth.

 

“Hey Sehun, I gotta drop the call. My mom’s calling me.” Jongin said, turning the camera off and hiding him from view. Sehun secretly thought he was just trying to flake away from a conversation—he had a habit of leaving numerous messages on read under the reason of _‘I didn’t know what to reply’_ —and decided not to push anymore. Jongin’s parents were a touchy subject.

 

 _“Gotcha. Yeol and I need to go down or we’ll lose our reservation.”_ Sehun replied, getting up to actually get ready. Jongin’s high pitched laugh resonated through the line, before he bid him goodbye, humming when the younger replied.

 

When he had finally got around to answering his mother’s calls, trying to drown her complaints of numerous missed messages and a handful of missed calls, she had told him to get ready because she and his father would arrive in the next hour and a half. _“You need to come down when we call you again, okay? Spare keys are hooked on the deadbolt. You feeling better?”_

 

Jongin hummed in agreement, bumping his hip on the door of the dishwasher to push it close. “Little bit. Let me just feed Batman, and I’ll go shower. Yes mom, okay. Uhuh. I love you too. Bye—ow!” His mother had luckily dropped the call after he had said bye, or she would’ve had a loud earful of Jongin saying shit as loud as he could possibly have managed.

 

Batman had skittered away from him, ears at half-mast in guilt as he looked up at Jongin, who had his arms crossed in front of his chest and an angry look on his face. Jongin wasn’t really angry, but that nip on his socked foot really did hurt. “What have I told you about trying to steal my socks?”

 

A whine, and an impatient huff. Jongin answered back. “No, you aren’t getting away from this conversation.” He crouched down to get on the same eye level with the dog, who was busy trying to hide his face away from his owner. Jongin raised his index finger, poking him in the cheek. “No stealing socks! Especially when they’re still on my feet.” He had enunciated with a gentle poke on both cheeks as he chastised the dog.

 

Another whine, but this time Batman had shoved his face into Jongin’s hand, licking it a couple of times. Jongin smiled and scratched him behind the ears. “You’re forgiven, now go to your crate. I need to shower, and I don’t need the company.”

 

\--

 

They had to go to another dinner later, now with their closest family friends who didn’t have the time to actually cook for a Christmas dinner all for themselves, so his parents and the others just decided to do a potluck instead. Jongin was thankful for that, at least he didn’t have to wake up on the asscrack of dawn to help his mother cook.

 

His parents had mingled around, while Jongin had enough conversation in him to push some half assed pleasantries from his mouth, throw a few smiles and some handshakes here and there, and he was already excusing himself from conversation after conversation.

 

Jongin found the only room in the rented villa void of any prying adult was another sitting room occupied by screaming children, and otherwise quiet teenagers preoccupied with a console on the huge flatscreen braced on the wall. Lucky for him, the couch was otherwise unpreoccupied.

 

Brushing the scattered lego pieces off the cushions, he made himself comfortable with an old book he had brought along with his legs tucked underneath him. His earpods blared with music as he immersed himself in a James Patterson book, a Christmas gift from Kyungsoo four years ago, and the next thing he knew, he was stretched out on the two-person loveseat, his legs hanging off the arm rests.

 

His side was pressing against paper bags containing gifts, crumpling them whilst his pockets were heavy with cash from a generous _Tito_ Noel, combining both his Christmas and Birthday gift into one envelope. Jongin had really expected a fifty-riyal bill; after all, he was in his early twenties and was way past the age of receiving gifts.

                                                              

He was taken back when he lifted the edge of the envelope when the older man had left the room, and to his surprise, Jongin had pulled out five one hundred-riyal bills. It was more than a hundred bucks when converted into dollars, but Jongin was grateful for receiving a gift from someone who could’ve just sent it to his family in the Philippines.

 

A few more hours into the night, it was finally Christmas but Jongin had merely gotten up from the couch to stuff his face with ice cream, offering tight lipped smiles and murmured _excuse me’s_ as he entered the kitchen. The adults were deep in conversation as he passed through them, and a mother was busy breaking up a fight over a doll in the other room.

 

He was offered a glass of Saudi champagne by his father’s coworkers, and he had gratefully accepted it as he would take anything resembling alcohol at this point, the drink tasting of apples and the bubbles fizzing against his lip as he sipped at his flute.

 

Returning to his spot was quick, a few strides later, he was back into the cushions and nose deep in the book, his free hand busy with scooping spoonfuls of Jamoca Almond Fudge into his mouth. Jongin didn’t notice at first, but as he got older, the holidays had lost their spark to him. Not because the gifts he received had declined, it was more of a chore to him now, to attend dinner parties and give substantial gifts to whomever he thought deserved it.

 

It was unnecessary, but he had chosen to keep his mouth shut. He had murmured into his mother’s ear that he wanted to go home.

 

That was an hour ago, and it was only now was his father gesturing for him to leave. Nevertheless, he was happy for it to be over.

 

Jongin was about to get into his room as soon as they got home, but his father had called him into their bedroom and handed him a heavy box, with a card taped onto it. It read, “To Nini, from Mom and Dad.” An awkward stretch of silence had fallen on them, and to break it, he murmured quick thanks before padding back to his room, his canine shadow happily nipping on the frayed ends of his skinny jeans.

 

In the quiet of his own room, he stared at the obnoxious amount of Santas smattered amongst the red wrapping paper and decided to pry off the card on top before ripping into the paper.

 

It was the laptop he had been eyeing for months ever since his current one seemed to be on its last legs with its almost full hard drive and astoundingly slow booting after four years since its purchase. He had refused to ask his parents for money to buy a new one, instead saving a part of his monthly allowance to accumulate the proper amount to actually buy it himself.

 

The card was from his mom, a handmade card that showed off her creativity and amazing sense of humour. _It’s penguin-ing to look like Christmas_ , it read on the cover, with an emperor penguin chick with a santa hat on the cover made from layers of cardboard and felt.

 

When he opened the card, he saw the familiar penmanship of his mother—always in hanggul, rarely in English unless she was sending a quick text—from the letter addressed to him, beside another two-hundred-riyal bill taped on the vacant side.

 

_Dearest Jongin,_

_You have made your dad and I proud, multiple times. Too many times to count even. You are soon approaching the chapter of your life where you will need to stand up on your own feet, but always remember, we’re always here for you, even if you don’t want it._

_As your mom, I always wish only the best for you. You have gone through a lot and will continue to do so in your adult life. I hope and pray you’ll get through them, as you’ve done in the past. When I look at you, and the person you have become, it puts me at ease knowing that I’ve raised a good person, despite your questionable choices at times._

_We love you, Nini. Even if you’re too old for that nickname, and a few feet too tall, you’ll always be our little boy._

_Love, Mom._

 

 

Jongin had ended up with tears in his eyes after he had finished reading the letter. He had always had a weak spot for his mother, and the three years she had spent in Canada working away from him and his father.

 

The few thousand miles away from her had only strengthened that love and appreciation he’s always had, and it was times like this he considered himself immensely lucky for having great parents, who had always tried to give him the best life. He thought of his father, who had spent his mid-twenties already working in the kingdom, who had tirelessly worked for nearly three decades.

 

Goddammit. This was like a lowkey guilt trip.

 

He had lingered inside his room for a few hours setting his new laptop up and installing the necessary apps for his schoolwork. When it was appropriately late enough and the sounds of the television in the living room had died down, he peeked outside the corridor and checked for his parents. After confirming they were already fast asleep, he had snuck out of his bedroom—gifts in hand.

 

However instead of actually handing it to both of parents, he had merely hooked the handles of the paperbag onto the doorknob before retreating to his room and locking the door behind him, to prevent any unwanted barking from Batman, who was busy dozing off in his crate by the hall between the kitchen and living room.

 

\--

 

The next morning, Jongin had been woven up by his mother and was asked to join them for breakfast before they left for work. He had sluggishly walked to the kitchen, shivering in the morning air and choosing to don an impossibly bright teal Aeropostale hoodie before actually settling down on the table.

 

Through bleary eyes, he saw a royal blue tie around his father’s neck—the one he had got him for Christmas—against the powder blue of his dress shirt that morning. He had set down a cup of coffee in front of Jongin, before reaching towards his son to pet his hair fondly.

 

A show of affection usually was a sign of wanting ceasefire between them, and by leaning into the hand smoothing his unruly bed head and sipping the coffee all the while, Jongin accepted the truce. All is forgiven, for now.

 

 

[ i.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658259) [ii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658289) [iii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658298) [iv.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658337) [v.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658352) [vi.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658382)

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

The days between Christmas and New Year’s had bled into each other quickly—boxing day was severely uneventful, three-time reheated pasta and getting dragged along to his parents’ plans included. That dreadful Christmas dinner had exhausted his socializing energy for the rest of the year. New Year’s Eve had been the slightly more eventful, if getting lost in thick winter fog was considered interesting.

 

Jongin had come along with his father to get a cake for the dinner they were hosting this time, and since his mother had known they were only going to be gone for twenty minutes at max, she had erupted into a panicked lecture as his father answered her calls.

 

His father had merely shrugged his shoulders as he listened to her go on and on about getting the cake immediately after getting out of the office, instead of waiting until a few hours after. What if you and Jongin spent the New Year’s on the road, Jongin heard her ask and he had enough humour in him to yell a response.

 

“We have cake, mom.” She let out a sound akin to a mix between a growl and a hiss, but just asked them to be careful as she bid them goodbye.

 

After that, his mother had finally had her own work break from school, her students being done with their first semester finals and were probably whisked off to Europe by their parents. She had successfully bribed Jongin with a promise of frozen yoghurt the next time they would go out if he had helped her correct some papers and stamp them with stickers just to soothe some childish tendencies.

 

He had relented, but he had no idea that she had nearly forty students, and that he had to put a sticker into every page of the final papers and colour a few omitted pages.

 

All ten pages of the thick piles.

 

Honest to god, if he had to see another pack of smiley stickers—or even touch a single crayon in his life ever again; he’d burn the lot.

 

She had smiled at him tiredly as Jongin glared at a pack of crayolas on the living room table as they had finally finished—every stinking paper had a bright yellow face smiling up at him above his mother’s signature—and was finally putting away all the papers into their appropriate envelopes.

 

Batman thought it would be a great idea to play tug of war with the canvas bag which stored his mother’s things, but Jongin made the motion of fidgeting with his thumbnail, the clicking sound of his snapping fingernail making the dog let go of the bag and sit reluctantly. “You’re the only one that could do that, you know?”

 

Jongin had lifted the dog into his arms and cradled it like a baby, Batman burrowing his head into the crook of his shoulder. He may have swooned a little inside. “Well, I bribed him with chicken, so knows better to not annoy me.”

 

She had gotten off the couch and told him to get ready, since his father was about to drop them off again to the mall. He didn’t want to walk in circles—Mall of Dhahran was really just one giant circle—but she had insisted for him to come so he could buy proper work clothes and for that earlier promise of a large tub of frozen yoghurt.

 

He had unwillingly let himself follow her around boutique after boutique, while trying to read an e-book off his phone as he pushed a cart full of her purchases behind her. Junmyeon had recommended him a book and was kind enough to send him a download link because Jongin was the type to make impulsive purchases if left unsupervised in a bookstore.

 

As she browsed through a boutique, Jongin immersed himself into an early summer in 1983 in Northern Italy, slightly jealous of the heat as he tugged his hoodie closer to himself. He was in the middle of a rather rousing debate about the origins of the word apricot and whether it was a Greek-Latin or Latin-Greek borrowing when a kakaotalk notification came in from Sehun.

 

**Oh Sehun**

_pls help_

_it’s so fucking cold here_

_Chanyeol made me help him take a video_

_He took twenty damned minutes and a near concussion                                                                                    for a six second video for insta_

_im about to freeze my balls off here_

**Jonathan Kim**

_Sucks to be you dude_

_It’s like 16 degrees here_

**Sehun**

_Fuck_

_Lucky_

**Jonathan**

_Not Really_

_I’m at a Michael Kors_

_Well my mom is_

_[IMG attached]_

_And shit_

_I really wish I knew Arabic_

_This gaggle of girls keeps giggling at me_

**Sehun**

_Tell your mom to choose that one from the left_

_[IMG attached]_

_The black one_

_Tell her_

_NOW_

**Jonathan**

_W A I T_

_I told her_

_Good choice btw_

_Dude I think they just took a picture of me_

**Sehun**

_:------------------)_

_looks like someone’s a foreign hottie_

 

Jongin looked up from his phone to look at the girls unsubtly crouched behind a rack of shoulder bags not far from where he was sitting, and true to his suspicions, one of them had a phone poised in his direction before they all dispersed as soon as they realized Jongin’s questioning glare towards them.

 

He frowned and put his earphones in, the slow beats of a the weeknd song managing to drown the excited chatter as more people piled into the boutique. He pulled at the end of his mother’s sleeve to tell her that he was just going to be outside. Once he had found an empty seat just across the store, he messaged Sehun again.

 

**Jonathan**

_Sometimes I wish I had your bitchface_

_It would help a great deal_

_I’m so tired_

_I have been awake for 20 hours_

 

Sehun didn’t reply, and judging from some mental calculations, it was well over midnight in Japan and the other was probably fast asleep—or getting laid. Not that Jongin minded, though. He just chose to read his book again and managed to finish it just before his dad arrived to pick them up for dinner.

 

It was embarrassing how empathetic Jongin was sometimes, he had to psych himself up to avoid crying in an Ikea As-Is section over the main character of the book being unable to get over that summer’s visiting scholar leaving him to go back to his sense of normality. It was terrible—to feel love and be indulged in it, only for you to hand it back reluctantly.

 

Granted that Elio knew that his short-lived love with Oliver was on borrowed time, it still stung to Jongin, to meet the love of your life but never having that happy ending with them. Life was never fair, Jongin supposed, as he lugged around a bag filled with kitchen tools and a rug back to their car, awkwardly balancing the roll in his arms as to not knock a child on their butt if he turned around.

 

In the middle of his plate of meatballs and mashed potatoes, Sehun had finally replied.

 

**Sehun**

_Shit sorry man_

_I was preoccupied_

 

Jongin stared at the screen as he sipped on a glass filled with diet Pepsi, chewing thoughtfully on the mouthful of potatoes he had stuffed in his mouth a few seconds ago.

 

**Jonathan**

_Did you leave me on read because you got laid?_

_Or you feel asleep_

**Sehun**

_…_

_the former, tbh_

_sorry_

**Jonathan**

_TMI_

_I’m eating dinner don’t be gross_

_And you don’t look apologetic_

_Seems like Chanyeol made it up to you_

_And_

_Your balls_

**Sehun**

_:-)_

_:-------------)_

_u know it ninibear_

**Jonathan**

_Fuck I shouldn’t have said that_

_I have meatballs and mash for dinner_

_FUUUUUUUCK_

**Sehun**

_;-)))))))_

 

Jongin couldn’t hide the grimace on his face as he swallowed, unable to look at his food properly. His father had noticed and asked about it. He had just reasoned it as acid reflux from the soda, which was half true. The other half was the urge of wanting to throw his dinner up on the veneer of the table they were currently occupying due to Sehun’s unnerving openness about his sex life.

 

After getting home, Jongin couldn’t sleep and he reasoned it as just the excessive sugar he had consumed from dinner. He stood in front of the mirror screwed onto the doors of his closet and stared, poking at his belly.

 

He frowned at the small amount of belly hanging off the waistband of his jeans, making a mental note to actually jog around the basketball court the next time he attended another Taekwondo training, instead of brisk walking at the back of the line. It would be easier to set his lungs on fire after an excruciating ten rounds of jogging rather than actually changing his entire wardrobe.

 

The post finals weight he had put on snacking on chips and downing energy drinks like vodka shots as he reviewed his notes on modern Sociology was finally catching up to him with the addition of two holiday dinners. He had shed the insanely tight pair of jeans for a pair of sweats that fell only around his ankles and shrugged.

 

It was comforting; the distraction the trainings had brought to him. He was surrounded by people that had seen him in his worst—bloody nose, sweat matted hair and perpetually injured feet—and had lived through his bests as he climbed up the topmost podium or pulled off a perfect demonstration of a complicated kick.

 

Even Kyungsoo managed to see one of his best moments in Taekwondo, despite having internal bruising inside his cheek and his vision darkening around the edges from the roundhouse that nearly full on collided with his jaw but managed to be hard enough to nearly twist the protective gear off his head.

 

The referee counted in front of him in accented Korean, but Jongin merely shoved the mouth guard back in his mouth and the urge to throw up back in his throat. His eyes saw Kyungsoo’s worried face behind the referee, his hands tight on the railing separating the ring. He raised his gloved fists, licking his lips before the shrill ring of a whistle rang in the arena.

 

In the end, the referee raised his arm as the winner of the match and he had won gold. Kyungsoo nearly buzzed in excitement as Jongin took his sweet time to walk out the ring, but he had pulled him into his arms tightly for winning the interschool competitions with no care for Jongin’s armor between them and his sweat soaked dobuk.

 

Jongin was sort of ecstatic that Kyungsoo saw a side of him that he didn’t necessarily show in school. The iron clad determination and amazing persistence Jongin had solely for the sport had hopefully showed Kyungsoo that he wasn’t the type to go down without a fight, despite what he’d done that spring morning when he just let him go.

 

Well, Jongin didn’t just let Kyungsoo go.

 

Kyungsoo did.

 

Kyungsoo let Jongin go so easily in spite of all the numerous promises he told Jongin after they had kissed in that corridor, after all they had gone through just to have some semblance to a relationship, after the harsh realization that whatever they had, had to be kept under wraps, or face serious reprimand.

 

When Kyungsoo told him that he just wanted to go back to being just friends, Jongin had no idea how to deal with the sting of rejection but to say some stinging words to him in retaliation. Jongin heaved a breath, angrily rolling his eyes as a small ache in the back of his mind reminded him of how painful what he had said back then.

 

Kyungsoo deserved it—who the hell breaks up with someone over the phone and not expect them to cuss you to the ends of the country? But Jongin digressed. He loved training, and it was easy to lose himself in a routine his mind and body knew by heart.

 

As the skin of his feet bruised against faux leather, and his muscles throbbed from numerous rounds of sparring, as his back ached from holding the same position for nearly five minutes at a time—it was hard to place where the pain was actually coming from, and easier to suppress the heartache and disappointment of a failed relationship.

 

Sometimes, Jongin didn’t know if it was sweat he was wiping off his jaw in frustration, or tears. Maybe both.

 

At least in Taekwondo, he could watch his performances and practice techniques to fill in what he lacked in a certain match. He was able to improve his abilities because he knew what the hell went wrong and had the heart to correct and fix himself to try things again.

 

He had made his best friends there, even if he rarely saw a handful of them anymore. The closest friend he had made in his earlier years of training as a six-year-old—Lu Han—had barely anytime to catch up with him, nor to even sleep due to his shifts in medical school, and Jongin doesn’t blame him for that. At least he remembered Jongin’s birthday and made sure to call him whenever he was free.

 

Sure, Irene and he talked through a handful of mentions through twitter, but beyond the rubber mats and high collared do buks in the kingdom, they weren’t that close of friends. Jongin was sure high school was the only other common ground they had shared, but he had appreciated the newfound closeness that had sparked after Jongin ripped his heart out his chest and laid it on a platter for her to see a few days ago.

 

He was thankful that she had merely observed and didn’t prod at it like she didn’t see him still bleeding from the void on his chest.

 

Yerim was another friend he had made in the aftermath of his bleeding heart suddenly being ripped out three—now four—years ago. She had offered him his comfort, whether be it the overwhelming pressure to get into a good university that wouldn’t break the bank for his parents and the sudden plunge his life had taken four Januaries ago.

 

Jongin had a feeling that this time around, four years later, a certain inner demon was readying itself to put on a show as it jumped off the ledge to another pool of anxieties and deeply squashed memories, taking its good time to pick at old wounds from a certain someone as their birthday approached.

 

\--

 

As he settled into the new year, the days bled into each other without any regard for Jongin’s reluctance to go back to Seoul. After all, this would be the last time he’d be coming back home. His father had finally processed his exit papers, and as soon as he stepped foot into immigration, he’d never be able to come back, ever.

 

Unless he applied for a visit visa, of course.

 

Truthfully, he was already well prepared for the news. He was told of it as soon as his father emailed him his entry visa and plane tickets. Hell, even if he suddenly refused to go back to Seoul, his father had already prepared his plane tickets for his flight back to Incheon. He was to leave on January seventeen, just a few days before the semester started and enough time for him to get back into his routine ( _and his bullshit.)_

 

What saddened him was he wasn’t going to see his parents until June, until summer break. He was never going to see Batman personally again, and as much as he tried not to think about it, his little pup was neither little or a puppy anymore.

 

The dog was nearly ten years old, and Jongin was afraid that he was going to lose the things the reminded him of home so soon. He was never one to sugar coat things at all, but Jongin wished that sometimes he hadn’t killed the optimist in him so early on in his life, so he could wish that his Batman would live longer.

 

Jongin didn’t want to leave home. He didn’t want to let go of the last days of his youth. In a matter of days, he was going to turn twenty-one and leave the desert for good.

 

Like any normal adult with terrible coping mechanisms, Jongin had chosen to sulk around the house instead. He had slept obscenely long hours and was up until the early hours of the morning. Though he had reason for his unhealthy sleeping habits—reading up on articles and necessary laws for the market study for his feasibility study—it was still a bad coping method.

 

Who could blame him though? He had more than a week until he had to cram packing his luggage and make that hour-long drive to KFIA again. Jongin even dreaded his birthday—because it was just so close to his flight, amongst other things.

 

On one hand, the holidays were finally over. Jongin could finally take off the red trinkets and the other Christmas decorations that littered the house and seal them away into a box to be left untouched until eleven months later but clearing off Christmas decorations meant more cleaning.

 

In between the short hours of him being awake enough to be ordered around or be brought along to trainings, his mother had the sudden urge to organize the shoe closet, and him and his father were in charge of lugging nearly ten years’ worth of old forgotten shoes to the dumpster across the street as soon as they got back from ISG.

 

Whilst Jongin dealt with the muscle pain in his left leg—the aftermath of a quite hellish but productive stretching, he had merely lazed around as he waited for the pain on the back of his thigh to dissipate. He had the usual biweekly existential crises and had a few talks with Junmyeon in the week prior to his birthday.

 

He was managing pretty well, if he did say so.

 

Kyungsoo’s birthday was coming up too, not that he forgot or anything, but what good were his birthday greetings anyways. Jongin had selected to keep mum on anything Kyungsoo related, his friends have also mastered the art of skirting around the topic of exes, but just as the weekend started, Jongin had woken up one morning, and it was already the elder’s twenty second birthday.

 

Jongin wished he didn’t see the sudden influx of birthday posts on the elder’s unchanging Facebook profile that somehow made it into his feed, but people from his old high school had resorted to posting greetings, selfies with Kyungsoo from senior year and class pictures with him present.

 

The pictures with Kyungsoo made him a little jealous—Jongin wasn’t much of a techie in High school, so he pretty much used a phone just to call and text his parents, opting to use his laptop inside. He never owned a phone with a decent camera until he graduated high school, so that meant him and Kyungsoo never had any selfies together, that he knew of.

 

They had a handful of stolen intimate pictures together—them sitting side to side, and their hands intertwined, another was Kyungsoo leaning his chin on Jongin’s shoulder and a hand on the younger’s waist as Jongin stared at something with a furrow in his brows—one of them Jongin was very much tempted to post in Kyungsoo’s feed, just to say that _I’m the one who has the right to greet him this early, I’m the one that’s special to him_ , and _my greeting’s the only one that matters_.

 

But he remembered, who was he in Kyungsoo’s life now?

 

Who even was Kyungsoo in Jongin’s life now, four years after their breakup? They were exes, not even friends, and nothing more.

 

Granted they had only been together for no less than a year, but he had been Jongin’s best friend before that transition to boyfriends they went through. For someone who weighed friendships more than relationships, that was a hard transition, if Jongin was being honest. Jongin preferred the emotional stability and safety friendships provided without the requirement of commitment.

 

Not that he had any trouble committing to Kyungsoo, or anything like that. It was more of him getting too emotionally dependent on the elder boy that made things harder to break off when Kyungsoo had supposedly grown tired of the romantic aspect of their relationship. Jongin had cut off two people in his life that day; a best friend and a boyfriend.

 

So naturally, after recoiling from the sting of broken promises against his skin, the vulnerable part of him wanted to cling onto the good things, the good memories Kyungsoo had been part of, but what use were they? It just hurt more thinking about what he and Kyungsoo could have been right now—the nostalgia stung more than the actual break up, if Jongin was being perfectly and stupidly honest.

 

He had spent senior year surrounded by Julia, who had a boyfriend back in the Philippines, and Katherine and George, despite whose relationship had suffered due their parents’ adamant disapproval, had stayed strong even in university. His friends had great relationships. He was surrounded by a constant reminder of what he would have had, if he knew where he went wrong.

 

It’s dumb—going around in circles. Whether be it two years ago, or five years ago, Jongin was still stuck on Kyungsoo.  

 

He was perfectly aware that desperately clinging onto two years’ worth of memories were about to run out over the years eventually, that one day he would just wake up without that heaviness in his chest and that irritating craving for affection in the back of his head. But what could he do? Jongin was a mere human, with stupidly sensitive emotions and borderline severe attachment issues.

 

Julia had brought up the idea of being friends with Kyungsoo, or at least reconciling with him enough to be civil around him. SATs were coming up, and the school always held them in one campus with both the Dammam and Dhahran students randomly grouped by schedule. ‘ _Talk to him, at least. So that you could graduate and leave the country without any strings attached.’_

 

That idea was a bust.

 

It took twenty minutes for Jongin’s false sense of calm to dissipate and reveal the unease underneath it one early October morning in 2013 when he opened the doors leading to the football field outside, only to reveal a familiar dark-haired male sitting on a nearby bench, hands clasped between his knees. eyes distant as he stared off into the cloudy sky.

 

His hair had grown longer, and his jaw was starting to shed the last traces of boyhood than the last time Jongin had seen him, and when Kyungsoo seemed to sense someone else’s eyes on him, he turned to where Jongin was standing.

 

Jongin swore his lungs started acting up when their eyes met. His palms grew sweaty, his heart hammering against his ribs, and he grew tongue tied at the sight of the elder boy. Kyungsoo had looked so different and mature all of a sudden, as if he and Jongin were worlds apart, but the soft, and deceivingly longing look in his eyes made the younger feel like he was the same boy he had fallen in love with last October.

 

There was deep desperation in Jongin’s chest that had suddenly been released at the sight of Kyungsoo— _go to him, sit beside him like the day he poured his love for you, talk about the things that needed to be discussed and forgive him for hurting you._

 

 _And just maybe, just maybe, get him back._ A small voice had whispered, but its tone had a ring of finality that gave Jongin no choice but to move his legs and walk. Walk towards the dumb, wooden picnic bench where Kyungsoo offered a bottle of iced tea with his heart on the side to Jongin that rainy October morning.

 

When the doors to the gym creaked open, revealing Matteo and a couple of Kyungsoo’s other friends to crowd over the elder, their eye contacted ceased and the spell broke. It was as if a cold bucket of water had been poured all over Jongin’s head, making him recoil and go back to the hall behind him.

 

Last minute panic had ensued and as he closed the heavy door behind him to wait for other people to head into the gym, he had closed every door of him and Kyungsoo ever talking again, despite being assigned in the same rooms due to their names being next to each other in the roster.

 

Jongin had left the exam room with an overwhelming need to throw up in the nearest bathroom or trashbin four hours later, and as Julia finally managed to track him down in the middle school wing’s bathroom, he had a splitting headache as they boarded the bus back to the Dhahran campus.

 

He had looked back briefly and saw Kyungsoo staring at the bus, as if he was searching for someone. Jongin gripped his phone tightly in the pocket of his black American eagle hoodie, his other hand drumming an impatient beat on his knee as Julia and Katherine chattered excitedly in the seat in front of him, unaware of the inner turmoil he was currently under.

 

 A pessimistic— _no, realist_ —at heart, Jongin doesn’t necessary understand the supposed effect exes have on people, even years after a break up. Sure, you gather all your pieces together and analyze the situation of how shit hit the fan and avoid that in the next relationship you may enter in the future.

 

A few months back, Sehun had once frowned at him while they stood at a ddeokbokki stand near their university as Jongin went on and on about exes, and how it doesn’t necessarily mean your ex should still make a significant change to you as a person one afternoon as they waited for Wendy and Seulgi to finish an exam, while Taemin was busy consulting their professor about a minor revision.

 

“Look, Jongin, how do I say this.” The then rainbow haired Sehun hummed, absentmindedly wiping a speck of sauce on his light wash jeans. “The thing with what you learn with exes, you just gotta find it in yourself if you want to apply it in your life. It’s all up to you if you want to make peace with what you realized with Kyungsoo or stay in denial for the rest of your life.”

 

Jongin had rolled his eyes back then, angrily chewing on a particularly chewy piece of ddeok from Sehun’s plate as he waited for his. “It’s not like I can just hit him up and say, ‘ _that was a real shit way you broke up with me in high school._ ’ Things don’t work that way, Hun.” He replied, already tossing his toothpick in a nearby bin.

 

The rainbow haired boy had nodded, taking in mouthfuls of his food before finding a spot to sit down. “Ah, now I get it. You don’t have closure, so you can’t move on. That’s the thing with you, Jongin, you’re too systematic.”

 

“Pardon me?” Jongin was perplexed, no one had described him that way. “You’re a stickler for steps and routines, right? I’ve noticed it. All the things you do have prerequisites to them. Sometimes you act like you’re just waiting for someone to feed you some commands, and when things don’t look like they make sense, you have an inner meltdown.” Sehun explained as he waived his toothpick around.

 

“In this chain your brain is desperately trying to connect, you’re lacking a key point or link, so you can’t do anything else unless everything is laid out and you can see it.” The younger continued, briefly stopping to wave at Taemin, who was on his way on the small table. “You’re too much of a black and white person, I guess. No grey areas.”

 

Jongin frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not going to counter that, but I don’t like vagueness, or the feeling of being left in the dark about things. I don’t like being teased about something, and then.” He waved his hands around in a nonsensical pattern. “Nothing.” Taemin had finally arrived at the table, setting his plate of odeng on it. “What’re we talking about?” He asked, before tearing into a stick.

 

“Just Jongin and his quest to find closure.” Sehun had kindly provided to the eldest in the table, before busying himself with his phone temporarily. “Look Jongin, this just all stems from not knowing why Kyungsoo had ended it right? The need to know everything.” Taemin didn’t provide his own insight yet on the story, but he kept his gaze on Jongin.

 

“I think?” Jongin had supplied, sending Taemin a little smile after he took the offered stick of odeng. “I made peace with the fact that I’m never probably going to get that closure, because all the answers are with Kyungsoo. The need to know is just an after effect of being kept in the dark for so long.”

 

The eldest had finally spoke up. “Well at least your overwhelming curiosity to know every minute detail is now justified, and you’ve admitted it, that you’ve got issues about commitment.” Taemin had stated, breaking the empty sticks in half as he explained. “let’s just abandon the idea that you are ever going to find closure about this—do you think you’ll move on despite the missing pieces?”

 

Taemin had asked, his tone pressing enough that Jongin felt compelled to answer. “Yeah. I can, but—” Sehun sighed, shaking his head. “Of course, there’s a but.”

 

Jongin reached out to tug at the drawstrings of Sehun’s jacket just to annoy him. “I can move on, but I will still appreciate it, if like one day the answers just fell on my head out of nowhere.”

 

“Have you ever thought of maybe asking his parents?” Taemin asked, mulling his own suggestion over. “but, uhh, was he out?” Jongin had helplessly raised his shoulders, shaking his head. “I don’t know, and I abandoned that idea way back in senior year.” He offered, as both Taemin and Sehun sighed.

 

They had quickly dropped the topic when Wendy patted Jongin’s shoulder, Seulgi already leaning against Taemin. “Hey, you guys already ate?”

 

Sehun got up, slipping the straps of his bag across the shoulders. “Nah, that was pregame. Now, where are we going to eat? Jongin?” He called out to the brunet, still staring the empty chair Sehun just vacated.

 

Jongin frowned, trying to shake off the months old conversation from his head this early on in the morning and in the middle of making a sandwich too. Jongin truly didn’t even know if Kyungsoo’s parents knew who he was. His sure as he did, especially when they had found out about it.

 

He had half the mind to close his data for the last hour of Kyungsoo’s birthday until his, but just as he was about to turn his phone off, it rang with a messenger call from Irene.

 

“Hello, Jongin?” She sounded out of breath, as if she had been running. The distinct sounds of an ambulance rang in the background behind her voice, and that sent a wave of panic and dread to settle on Jongin’s gut. “Why’s there an ambulance? Are you alright? Did you get into an accident?” He had blurted out, jumping onto his feet to pace around the room, his bare feet rubbing roughly against the carpet.

 

“No, no. I’m fine. Yerim is too, before you ask.” Irene explained, the panic in her voice subsiding. “I’m at the hospital, Jongin.” She paused to take a few deep breaths, as if to psyche herself up. “It’s Kyungsoo’s mom. She’s had a mild stroke apparently, and we just followed the ambulance and arrived with Hyanggi.”

 

He remembered Kyungsoo’s little sister, who was practically a splitting image of her older brother, all scrunching eyes and rosy cheeks in her younger years. “Is she okay too?” Jongin asked quietly, swallowing nervously as he still paced around and ruffled his hair in frustration. He heard Irene usher someone to sit, before she replied. “She’s fine. Just a little bit in panic, but she’s calming down.”

 

When Jongin finally managed to pull himself together from the shock of dread that fell over him, he sat down on the couch. “Why’d you call me?” He breathed out. “Do they need help, or something? I’m not sure my parents can help right now…” Irene cut him off, and he could almost imagine the furrow of her brows as she shook her head.

 

“Honestly, I don’t know why I called you either.” She explained, deflating on one of the chairs lining the halls. Jongin could hear the ER in the background, wheels screeching against the floor, groans of pain and the measured thudding of shoes as doctors and nurses ran around. “I…I just thought you’d want to know.” Irene clicked her tongue, breathing into the receiver. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to panic you.”

 

“No, no. It’s fine. I’m fine.” Jongin replied, more to himself than Irene as he tried to steady his heartbeat. “Thanks for telling me.” A beat of silence fell over them as both Jongin and Irene didn’t know what to say, now that the adrenaline had subsided and was replaced with a sudden bone deep exhaustion. “Do you want to visit her? I can ask Mr. Doh if I could bring someone along.”

 

“I’ll ask my dad if he could drop me off or something.” He trailed off, his mind everywhere and anywhere else at the moment. Jongin wasn’t heartless, and as pessimistic as he was about the talk of death and its inevitability, he was still human and was scared of it. Kyungsoo’s family could only deal with so much loss in a decade.

 

“It’s late, Jongin. You should go to bed. Hyanggi is going to be staying at Yerim’s for the meantime, I just came along.” She breathed out gently, the exhaustion evident in her tone. “I will, just uhm,” Jongin paused, fidgeting with the ends of his sweatpants. “Just keep me posted, okay?”

 

“I will. Good night.”

 

The line went off and Jongin could only blink dumbly at the ceiling after he laid back, his breathing slow and shaky. He had never really met Kyungsoo’s mother, or his father either. Though he had seen the latter pick Kyungsoo and Hyanggi up at school before, all he knew about Kyungsoo’s family was they weren’t the only one.

 

They had talked about their families one afternoon during the early winter. When September rolled in, seasons were changing, and the colder mornings gave way to more bearable afternoons. Midterms had just rolled in, and Kyungsoo had Hyanggi’s bag on his lap as he watched the little girl run around the grounds as they waited for his father. Jongin was seated beside him, their thighs flush against each other’s as he waited for his father as well.

 

Jongin struck up a conversation a conversation with Kyungsoo about having siblings, and how it felt to take care of one that was a decade younger than him. The elder had merely shrugged, joking about Hyanggi was his kid, not his mother’s, even if the way his lips shook in the corners as he tried to control his laughter was a dead giveaway to Jongin, who could sense the bullshit without even looking up from his book.

 

Kyungsoo had eventually let go of the joke, instead confiding to the younger boy about his adopted sister’s real family, and even going to great lengths to open up about being part his father’s second family.

 

Jongin seemed uncomfortable about hearing so much about his boyfriend’s family when they had only been dating for a couple of months, since opening up for him was akin to prying a rusty metal box with a crowbar, but Kyungsoo merely brushed Jongin’s fringe away, murmuring something only Jongin could hear. _“It’s fine, I trust you.”_

 

He was tempted to ask—did you tell your exes about this too or am I actually special?

 

Jongin busied himself with a pack of peach harribos—stress eating, yet again—as he occupied himself with a season of Bones to attempt to take control over his wild thoughts and soothe the unease in his mind. It was nearing half past four in the afternoon, and his laptop quietly played another argument between Brennan and Booth, but he couldn’t quite calm himself.

 

He thought of Hyanggi, and what she might be feeling right now. She might be around twelve or thirteen by now. The last time he had seen her was four years ago, sitting down with her mother, trying not to cry as she stared at Kyungsoo at the end of the hall. Her red rimmed eyes shone with unshed tears, but the resigned expression in them seemed like she had cried enough.

 

Jongin had been reluctantly taken with the little girl, especially when she practically greeted the older boy with a giant hug around his legs every time she caught sight of him in around the school. Hyanggi was also one of the roots of Kyungsoo’s many frustrations back then; both at home and in campus. She had a penchant for getting into fights despite her small stature and cherubic face, but it was clear where she had gotten the stubbornness.

 

Hyanggi, ever since she had declared her liking of Jongin, seemed to lose any sense of discretion towards Kyungsoo, and blurted anything she could say about her older brother; his favourite food, how he had _‘Jongin-oppa’s’_ picture on his phone, and that one winter break where Matteo and Kyungsoo had a bet on who could not shower for the longest time.

 

Jongin discovered that Matteo won by a score of nine days to Kyungsoo’s eight, Hyanggi ‘accidentally’ poured strawberry milk on Kyungsoo just so he would actually take a shower.

 

\--

 

The next day, Jongin’s birthday was about to roll in, but it was already his birthday back in Korea. His friends called for another conference call as soon as the clock struck twelve there, and Jongin’s dinner of indomie noodles was rudely interrupted. His parents had a hospital appointment to attend to, and he wasn’t necessarily too keen on sitting in a waiting room for an hour or more after a long visit to the dentist the day before.

 

Sehun was finally back in Korea, and he waved a little Gudetama plush he had gotten Jongin as a gift, and a whole ass bottle of maple syrup from Wendy, who was still busy packing her own luggage back to Seoul in a few days. They wished him a happy birthday, and Seulgi kindly threw in a wish for Jongin to finally find someone this 2018 _. “So, he can finally use all the love life advice he’s given us!”_

 

Jongin grinned, shaking his head as Taemin was already drawing a date for all of them to go out drinking before classes resume, but god knows Sehun will be driving his sorry drunken ass home when he’s slumped down on a bar table a third of a bottle of rum and eight jello shots later.

 

It’s funny because Seulgi’s a much stronger drinker than he is, and both Sehun and Jongin have three years’ worth of dumb shit Taemin has pulled while shit faced recorded on their phones and a private hard drive that they plan on gifting the eldest after graduation.

 

“It’s actually just half past seven here but thank you guys.”

 

 _“When’s your flight back to Seoul, Jonathan?”_ Wendy asked in a gibberish of Korean and English as she struggled to carry her luggage into its upright position, yelling a small ‘yes’ when she managed to pull it up. Jongin chewed thoughtfully as he checked his emails for the flight details before answering. “The evening of the 17th, but I’d probably arrive on the evening of the 18th since I have a five-hour layover in Hong Kong. You?”

 

 _“Mine’s on the 17 th too, but in the middle of the night. So, I might arrive a little earlier than you.”_ Wendy shook her head at hearing the long layover, sighing sympathetically. Jongin grinned back, shrugging his shoulders. “I hate layovers, but the next direct flight to Seoul isn’t until the 21st and I’m not too keen on missing a class with Prof. Franceau or attending class straight from Incheon.”

 

Taemin’s head shot up from his laptop at the mention of the familiar name, squeezing his cheek against Seulgi to talk to Jongin. _“What do you mean we’re going to have Mr. Franceau as a professor this semester?”_

 

“He’s the only one that handles the morning Tuesday-Thursday class for Corporate Planning. Chanyeol told us, remember?” Sehun answered, his voice bored while Taemin groaned. “ _To think I just fucking paid my tuition.”_ He turned to Seulgi, who was still obviously amused about her boyfriend’s reaction. _“Can I drop out from a class this early on?”_

_“Hey, he’s not that bad. He gave me a 3.5 in Strategic Management last semester.”_ Wendy reasoned out, already back into the reading nook by her window, where Jongin could see the falling snow behind her. _“That’s because you’re good at presentations.”_ Taemin groaned out, sighing dramatically which made Sehun and Jongin laugh.

 

 _“At least you didn’t fight him like Jongin did.”_ Sehun said, trying to hide his snickering with his hand. Jongin reasoned it as just doing what he could to raise his GPA, even it meant losing his temper slightly due to poor presentation one of his groupmates at a seven thirty am lecture.

 

The brunet’s face burned despite the temperature as they reminisced about the time Jongin nearly argued with the same professor over a presentation that counted as their final exam, cussing as he tried to divert the conversation. Seulgi spoke out and asked what they had planned for his birthday instead, reeling her boyfriend back in.

 

“Ah, probably just dinner outside. I don’t really know what else.” Jongin answered, but Sehun frowned. _“It’s your 21 st, though?”_

 

“No alcohol here, remember?”

 

Taemin’s voice rang out again from Seulgi’s frame, yelling something out before the girl clarified it for everyone else. _“That’s why we gotta go drinking, he said.”_

 

“Unless it’s your treat, then I don’t mind.” Jongin said, winking. They had all erupted in laughter, but they had quickly wrapped up the conversation because it was already late back in Seoul, and Taemin needed to drop Seulgi off back to her dorm before getting back to his place too. Sehun was already leaning against a wall, silently dozing off.

 

 _“Happy Birthday again, Jongin! We love you, see you soon.”_ They greeted for the last time, before the line all went dead.

 

\--

Jongin’s birthday finally rolled in, and though he was a little happy that he was finally legal in all countries and he was finally able to drink without feeling the small inkling of guilt in the pit of his stomach when he made decisions to tag along after every semester, the thought of Kyungsoo and his family kept him on edge.

 

His father had noticed the distant, almost worried look in his son’s eyes when he missed the marmalade dip with his coconut shrimp and decided to ask him about it without Jongin immediately clamming up on them, as once he was on the receiving end of one of his mother’s calculating stares, her brows furrowed with worry.

 

“Is everything okay?” Jongin looked at her, deciding on whether he should tell them anything. He gave her an impression of a smile instead, still picking at his food. “Just…thinking.” He reasoned out, choosing to hide the truth of what was really happening. “I am going to be leaving in a few days, and I guess the home sickness is just hitting me this early already.”

 

His parents had grown silent, and he just plastered on a big smile for them again. “I swear, I’m fine. I’m just a little worried for my classes next semester, nothing else.” Jongin stated, but the false sense of calm he had been desperately putting up was broken up with the loud vibration of his phone with a notification from Irene.

 

“Did you ask your parents if you could visit tomorrow, or do you want me to ask them?” the message had read, and the awkward silence that ensued after Jongin’s hand shot out to look at the screen had stretched until he met eyes with his parents, both confused from his jitteriness.

 

He typed out a quick reply, before shoving his phone into the breast pocket of his jacket, trying to slow his breathing as he blinked a couple of times. What harm would it do to ask, he thought to himself before the anxious side of his brain started listing everything that could go wrong and overpower him.

 

“It’s just Joohyun.” He referred to Irene, fidgeting with his fork. “Uhm.” Jongin continued dumbly, his anxiety getting the better of him. His father had frowned, the way his moustache curved downwards always made Jongin laugh, but this time it only made him more unable to speak. “You’ve been fidgety since last night. What’s wrong Jongin?”

 

“I think she’d be able to explain the matter at hand better.” He answered weakly, trying to skirt away from the topic, but his mother turned the calculated gaze on him again. Dinner was left unforgotten on the table as Jongin was on the receiving end of two hard stares, leaving him to squirm uncomfortably.

 

“Are you two dating?” His father’s brows went up all the way in his hairline when his mother asked him the question, but Jongin immediately shook his head as soon as he heard it. “No, mom, we talked about this. We aren’t dating. It’s something else. It’s not uni either.”

 

Their gazes have grown softer as Jongin started to explain the situation to them. “It’s Kyungsoo’s mom.” He said quietly, testing the waters as he stared at his drumming fingers on the edge of the dark table. “She wants to see you?” Came the response from his own mother.

 

“No. I want to see her.” Jongin’s right leg started to shake as he poured every bit of reluctance in his tone. “She’s in the hospital, and Irene told me about it two days ago. She asked me if I still wanted to visit her tomorrow.” His feet grew cold as he stared at his father sipping at his drink calmly and his mother staring at him worriedly.

 

“Did she know about you and Kyungsoo?” She asked wearily, reaching out to hold Jongin’s hand in hers. Jongin gave her a shaky smile in response to the question, knowing well that she knew what he meant. “I don’t want to judge her too quickly, but not everyone is as accepting, Nini.” Came the gentle chiding as she stroked the top of his hand, lingering on the faint scar on top of it that refused to fade even after five years.

 

“I still want to.” Jongin replied, nodding. He reached for the thin frames on his nose with his unoccupied hand, setting it on the table to massage the space between his brows. “If she doesn’t want to talk to me, then at least I can say that I tried right?” Jongin’s voice grew weary due to years of suppressed pain being unearthed again.

 

His parents exchanged a look between them, before his sent him an encouraging smile, patting his hand one last time before pulling away to get back to her dinner. “Well, go tell Irene that you’re going with her tomorrow. Your dad can drop you off.” She said, giving his father a look that offered him no way to reject.

 

“Of course. But I can only drop you off tomorrow between six and seven. We do have to pick your mom up her student’s compound at eight. That okay with you?” Jongin finally had the strength to smile sincerely again, nodding at his father’s offer. “That’s fine with me, Dad. Thanks.” He murmured quietly, before pulling his phone out to message Irene about the new developments.

 

**Irene Bae**

_That’s great, Jongin._

_Six to six thirty’s fine with me._

_Just give me a call when you’re at the lobby tomorrow._

_Oh, by the way, happy birthday._

_Have a good one. :)_

\--

 

Jongin fussed with the basket of fruits in his hands that Irene handed to him when she caught sight of him passing through the automatic doors of Al-Mouwasat Hospital, the faint scent of antiseptic making him wrinkle his nose a bit. He gulped, but something seemed to be blocking his airway, making him sputter into the sleeve of his denim jacket as they waited for the elevator.

 

Irene reached out to pat him on the back, smiling up at him with a spark of joking comfort in her eyes. Jongin had weakly sighed in response. “Is this a bad time to tell you that I can’t breathe properly right now?” The sinking weight in his stomach had only grew heavier in weight as the elevator dinged in front of them.

 

She pressed the correct buttons, squeezing next to Jongin in the rather packed elevator. “Well, at least if you pass out, there’s going to be an army of nurses already rushing to you.” She joked, but it didn’t help dispel the anxiousness creeping up Jongin’s spine.

 

When they had gotten out on their floor, she grabbed his arm gently and pulled him in the proper direction of the room Kyungsoo’s mother had been staying in. “Look, if you want, you don’t have to see her. You can just call your dad and go home.” Irene told him as they stopped in front of a door with the numbers 608 beside it. “I’ll be there with you, don’t worry.”

 

Shaking his head, he replied that no, I can do this. I promise, just getting cold feet. She had grinned, before turning to knock on the door. Jongin waited outside the door, rocking back on his heels as Irene talked to Kyungsoo’s mother, hopefully to inform her of his presence so he could run off if needed.

 

Just as Jongin was about to sit down on one of the waiting chairs lining the hall, the door swung open gently to reveal a familiar face. Hyanggi. Hyanggi frowned and looked at him for a couple of seconds before standing before the elder boy, taking Jongin by surprise when she leaned in to hug Jongin. She pulled away to smile at him, patting his waist. “Hi Jongin-oppa. It’s been awhile.”

 

It hurt to see Hyanggi, to even look at her face hurt. She looked exactly like Kyungsoo, from the heart shaped smile and the soft gaze in their eyes whenever they smiled. Jongin felt his nose prickle and his throat grow dry from the involuntary want to cry from seeing Kyungsoo’s little sister after so long.

 

“You used to call me Jonginnie.” Hyanggi’s face grew pink at the memory suddenly brought up, shaking her head as she laughed. “I was seven then, oppa. You’re just trying to embarrass me now.” She continued smoothing her bangs down from the ruffling Jongin had subjected it to. “You don’t look a day after seven then.” He retorted, finally sitting down.

 

Hyanggi sat down next to him, her legs swinging off the chair. Jongin fussed with his jacket before leaning back, staring into the bright ceiling lights. “I thought you wouldn’t remember me anymore.” He said, looking at the younger girl from the corner of his eyes. Hyanggi had the same furrow between her brows as Kyungsoo did when he was deep in thought, and it just added to the gravity of the situation he was currently in.

 

Jongin was finally meeting Kyungsoo’s family, and for not the right reasons too.

 

“How could I forget you? Kyungsoo-oppa got so mad at me when I ruined that Valentines’ day surprise he had for you that he would forget to pick me up from my classroom on time for a week.” She smiled at the memory, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

 

Jongin merely smiled back, reaching to pat her head like he used to every time the little girl wrapped her libs around him back then. Hyanggi was thirteen, but the way she seemed to carry herself now showed her matureness was a product of unfair circumstances.

 

“You’re going to visit mom too?”

 

“Yeah, I came with Irene.” He gestured back to the room, while Hyanggi nodded. “I thought I should let her have a few minutes before I come into the room too.” Jongin explained.

 

“Oh, okay. Yerim unnie came by last night too.” Hyanggi stood up and faced the room where her mother was, gesturing for Jongin to follow her. He was entered the room, opting to rock back and forth on his heels by the bathroom obscuring the vision of the woman lain in bed.

 

From his position, he could see Irene sitting at Kyungsoo’s mother’s bed side, talking to her in hushed tones and assisting her with things she needed. Hyanggi’s voice floated through, vaguely telling her mother that she had another guest that had come along with Irene.

 

When Irene stood up from her seat, she went towards Jongin, who was positively paralyzed with fear in the corner by the door. Jongin felt all the blood leave his face, leaving him pale as a sheet with his steadily clammy hands gripping the handle of the basket. He looked at Irene’s concerned features with wide eyes, his legs losing feeling.

 

“Hey, you okay? You look like your blood pressure is about to rise any moment.” She whispered, holding his cold hand in hers. “Do you still want to meet her? It’s okay if you can’t.” Irene looked up at him, her voice nearing a whisper as Jongin swallowed the lump in his throat.

 

“No, no. I,” He said, shaking his head. “I can do this. Let’s go.” Jongin continued, letting out deep and shaky exhales to will the blood to return in their proper places. Irene nodded before pulling on his arm to bring him into the larger side of the room. Hyanggi was seated on the pseudo bed-bench hybrid tucked beside the hospital bed.

 

Jongin bowed his head low when he met eyes with Kyungsoo’s mother, biting his lip as he moved to stand behind the chair Irene had returned to. “Auntie, this is Jongin. He came with me today.” The older girl had prompted, looking back at him to jut her jaw in the woman’s direction.

 

“Hello, I’m Jongin.” He said dumbly, looking down at the basket he was holding for the past twenty minutes. “Um, my parents got this for you. We’re hoping for your quick recovery.” The woman had smiled, calling Hyanggi to take it from Jongin to set it on the small table at the foot of the bed. “Thank you, dear.” She said hoarsely, to which Jongin had offered her a tight-lipped smile in response.

 

Irene smiled at him before returning to her conversation, talking about how she was going to be leaving in the morning. To be honest, Jongin just spaced out entirely as he picked at the dry skin on his thumb, thinking about what he was going to say if he ever got the strength to talk to Kyungsoo’s mother.

 

Suddenly, Irene had gotten up from her seat and was pulling Jongin into it, murmuring about wanting to get some food from the in-house cafeteria. He didn’t know it was possible for his face to grow starker white as he gripped the end of her sleeve, begging her discreetly not to leave.

 

The older girl had instead leaned in to whisper in his ear, before tugging his hand off to give it a brief squeeze and disappearing from the rooms altogether, the door clicking softly behind them.

 

Jongin blinked a couple of times, staring at anything else but the woman before him. His shoelaces were suddenly the most interesting thing he had seen, but the insistent voice in his head told him to not be rude. “How are you feeling, Mrs. Doh?” He asked quietly, just enough that his voice could be heard above the action movie playing in MBC.

 

She smiled at him gently, her dark hair pulled into a neat braid that sat on the collar of the powder green of her hospital gown. “I’m doing better. I’m getting the feeling back in my left hand now.” She stated, squeezing her hand into a fist on top of the blanket. Jongin felt a small whisper of relief pass through him as he listened to her, but was still unable to continue on a decent conversation.

 

“Call me Sunhee, please.” Her voice called out, reaching over to turn off the TV to fully talk to the boy in her rooms. Jongin could only nod, mentally preparing himself for an angry yell or slap for his audacity to visit the mother of the boy he had dated behind their backs.

 

“My Kyungsoo did say you were quite the person of few words.” She laughed, a little breathy. Jongin noticed the crow’s feet by her eyes, but it was clear where Kyungsoo and Hyanggi had gotten the expressive dark eyes. “I’m happy you visited me today, thank you.”

 

“Of course. You’re welcome…ma’am.” Jongin was taken by surprise with the fact that Kyungsoo’s mother—Sunhee—had known about him, to say the least. “I was one of his friends back in high school, but I moved schools for my senior year.” He replied, despite still being on edge due to his nerves. It hurt to lie, to cover himself in a title that didn’t give justice to the grief he had experienced.

 

At the same time, he didn’t want to incriminate himself in a sense, or mar a mother’s image of her son. “My son talked about you a lot.” Sunhee mentioned, immediately capturing Jongin’s attention. “With the way he talked about you, it seemed like he thought of you more as just his friend.” She trailed off, gauging Jongin’s reaction.

 

Sunhee had noticed the shell-shocked expression in Jongin’s eyes, and the shaky line of his pressed lips together. “I thought you knew about it, or this would be terribly awkward.” She laughed out, her laughter tinged with a hint of sadness. “Kyungsoo would hate me if I just blurted out his feelings for the boy he had been pursuing for years.” She finished, regretting her words as soon as she heard the hitch in Jongin’s breath.

 

Jongin, on the other hand, was shocked. Kyungsoo’s mother had known about them all these years, but all he did was hide away from her. He had a myriad of thoughts running through his head—she knew, she knew, she knew—and they were setting off his flight response. He had wanted to leave the room, but the weakness in his knees prevented him from doing so. “You…you knew?”

 

“Could you reach into the drawer on this table, please, Jongin?” Jongin got to his feet quickly and pulled the drawer open, and he was sure he was going to pass out on the floor right then and there when he pulled out a framed picture of him and Kyungsoo, shoulder to shoulder and their lips spread in small, barely suppressed gleeful smiles.

 

And if you looked closer, Kyungsoo had his arm around Jongin’s waist with the way his fingers lingered on the younger boy’s hip.

 

Jongin’s eyes started to blur as he cautiously ran his index finger on the glass, burning Kyungsoo’s smiling face to memory. A hand came to rest on his forearm, patting it as he struggled to breathe properly, too overwhelmed about what he has been learning so far. “Please, sit down. You’re scaring me, are you alright?”

 

The younger male just nodded, gripping the frame in his hands tightly as he backtracked into the hard plastic of the chair. “Kyungsoo…Kyungsoo was a quiet child, I didn’t know if it was just my connection to him as his mom, or just the way his eyes spoke volumes more than he ever cared to notice.” She trailed off, reaching out to hold Jongin’s hand.

 

“I work in this hospital, and when he reached his teens, he rarely came along with his dad to pick me up after my shift ended so he could help out with cooking at home, but one day, he was just so impatient for me to get off work.” Sunhee shook her head as she laughed genuinely at the memory. “It turned out that he just didn’t know what flowers to get his valentine that year.”

 

Jongin’s mind went to the dried roses in the shoebox above his desk, covered by books and some stray toiletries in his room. The very same roses she was talk about, and the very same roses that Kyungsoo had given him on a poorly planned surprise years ago with a pack of toblerone.

 

Kyungsoo, ever his enabler.

 

“I thought it was a girl, but Hyanggi told me about the pretty oppa Kyungsoo was always with.” Sunhee continued to tell Kyungsoo’s side of the story to Jongin, squeezing the clammy hand to at least provide some comfort.

 

“You…you’re not mad?”

 

Sunhee furrowed her brows, pressing her lips into a thin line. “Of course not. Kyungsoo is my son, and I would love him even if he loved another boy.” Jongin’s lower lip wobbled before he bit into it, leaning his head onto the metal railing of the bed. Sunhee could see his shoulders shake as he muffled a sob that escaped from his throat.

 

“I was so scared that you’d be angry with me.” Jongin admitted, his voice hoarse as he tried to control the tears mucking up his glasses. “I hid him from my parents because I was so scared.” Guilt crept up Jongin’s spine as he sobbed against the bed, his forehead pressed on cold metal as Sunhee allowed herself to stroke his hair. “I understand. You were young, you didn’t know better.”

 

All these years of hiding it, of running from the truth when it was the only one that actually helped him cope. The feeling was both bittersweet and liberating, and Jongin hated it. 

 

“I wanted to try again with him.” Jongin admitted, struggling to breathe as he sobbed into his hands. “I wanted a second chance with him, but I was angry.” He stuttered out, his chest heaving as he took in a lungful of air that almost made him choke in the sensory overload.

 

“But I was angry—my pride got in the way. I only really realized it when he…” Jongin whispered, shaking his head. Sunhee heaved a deep breath, nodding despite Jongin not seeing it. “When he died.” She completed the sentence, trying so hard not to break down as no matter how matter years passed, it still hurt to mention it out loud.

 

Sometimes, Jongin would drink himself stupid on the day he had lost Kyungsoo, sobbing into his pillow with a bottle of cheap soju still clutched in his hands when he woke up the next day, followed by a spitting and overwhelming urge to vomit all over his bed. He would call Sehun just to tell him that he was sick, and couldn’t come to class sobbing and nearly incoherent, but thankfully the younger covered for him.

 

It was hard to accept; losing Kyungsoo for the second time, and that time, permanently.

 

 It was January 17th 2014\. It was four am, and a fire had broken out, taking out an entire building. The news had reported it in the morning report—one casualty—it said, and Jongin felt his entire world fall and crumble into dust as Kyungsoo’s picture was projected on screen.

 

One casualty—a student.

 

One casualty—Kyungsoo.

 

Jongin had snapped at his teachers when they asked about it, fortunately, Julia had kindly explained the matter on his behalf— _they were best friends, miss, I’m sorry for what he said. Jonathan didn’t mean it_ – he spent weeks in classes with his head up in the clouds, hoping that this was just a dumb and cruel joke.

 

Jongin looked up, holding his glasses in his hands. His eyes were red rimmed, shiny with tears and his face broken with grief and pain. Only Jongin’s gasping sobs were the only sound in the small room, and they both had sat in relative silence.

 

“I am not a religious person, Jongin. I didn’t believe in premonitions and all that.” She whispered, smoothing Jongin’s fringe away from his tear streaked face. “But somehow, I knew. When Hyanggi accidentally knocked Kyungsoo’s portrait off the wall of our old house days before the fire, I just knew something was going to happen.”

 

“My phone.” Jongin babbled on. “I dropped it on his birthday, and it cracked.” He whispered, trying hard to ignore the pricking of his nose again. “I called him that one last time. I greeted him a happy birthday. I asked him if what we had was actually real or just a dumb joke.” Jongin didn’t know how to handle heartbreak then.

 

He had never experienced it, much less know how to combat it when it hit him square on the jaw. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Jongin, dear.” Sunhee said, wiping Jongin’s tears off with her thumb. Jongin could only grin at her. “You lost your son; your pain matters more than mine ever did.” He said, but Sunhee firmly disagreed.

 

“You loved him in a way my own love could never replicate.” Sunhee stated, a firmness to her tone. “It’s a shame, finding about this now. It could’ve saved you both the heartache. He tried so hard to talk to you, you know.”

 

Jongin shook his head at her words. “We rarely talked. I didn’t even greet him on Christmas or New year’s.” He had quietly admitted, picking at the steadily darkening navy blue of the ribbed cuff of his sweater. “No, Jongin. He went to all your trainings in school. He even roped Yerim to help him. It was stupid, but he was determined.”

 

Once again, shock had consumed him. Followed by the slow realization and understanding of Yerim’s sketchy actions every time they had varsity trainings back when he was still a senior. The lateness in coming back from water breaks, coming from the equipment closet, the unease of her smile when he had found her on the other end of the line of bleachers, as if she was hiding someone.

 

It also explained why he felt someone watching him from the Gym doors, but never seeing anyone there when he turned around. Sunhee gave him an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry if I’m bringing up so much. Yerim told me everything after we came back from Gyeonggi-do. She hasn’t told you?” She asked hesitantly.

 

A shake of the head. “Don’t blame her, okay? It was probably Kyungsoo’s wish so he wouldn’t hurt you anymore.” Jongin noticed a familiar olive-green jacket rolled up by the foot of the bed, recognizing it as one the elder boy frequently wore and lent to him.

 

He remembered its distinct smell of fabric conditioner, mingling with a spicy perfume that he secretly hated when Kyungsoo used it. “Kyungsoo used to let me borrow that.” He pointed to it, and it still probably had the same tear in the sleeve from being caught in the zipper.

 

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I really am.” Jongin whispered, managing to calm himself before another wave of tears could make its presence known to him. “I’m sorry for hurting your son when I was angry.” He muttered on, rubbing his hands together. “You don’t have to, I’m sure Kyungsoo’s understood why you did whatever it was to him. He hurt you too, and just had no idea how to deal with the heartache.”

 

She reached out one last time to pat his head. “I’m sorry too, Jongin. For Kyungsoo. For what happened.” Sunhee smiled, wiping at her own tears hurriedly as they rolled down her cheeks. “He wanted to you give the world—he told me all his dreams, and not once had he forgotten to include all of his family.” Jongin confessed, breaking off a piece of what Kyungsoo had confided in him.

 

“And you were his, Jongin.” She said simply, as if it was the most mundane thing to say.

 

A small stretch of silence had fallen over them while Jongin tried to straighten himself up, but the redness of his eyes and his swollen lids didn’t seem to go away, choosing to just duck his face away from view as a nurse knocked briefly, before popping in to inform Jongin was that visiting hours were almost over.

 

Jongin wiped his clammy hands on his jeans before getting back on his feet and bowed deeply to Sunhee. “Thank you for telling me everything. You have no idea what that meant to me.” But the woman had only opened her arms to Jongin, which he ducked to meet. “Of course.”

 

Hyanggi had picked the perfect time to come back into the room, as Jongin was just about done with saying his goodbyes to Sunhee. “Hey mom, oppa.” She said quietly, smiling softly at Jongin, who just pointed to the door. He wrapped Hyanggi up in a brief, but tight hug. “Take care.” He had whispered, before leaving the room altogether.

 

Irene look one look at Jongin’s face, and immediately took him into her arms just as he started crying again. The height difference made the hug all the more awkward, but the older girl pushed Jongin to sit in one of the chairs, so that he could properly bury his head into her shoulder. “Shh, it’s okay. Just let it out.” She whispered out, feeling his fingers grip the back of her jacket tightly.

 

The lady of the hour, Yerim, had just turned into the corner and was about to approach them when she saw Jongin, positively broken and crumpled into her cousin’s arms. Irene saw her and whispered something to Jongin, who had looked up and squinted his glasses free eyes in the youngest’s direction.

 

When she approached the crying male, Jongin reached out to take one of her hands in his. “She told me everything.” He whispered hoarsely, and despite the vague sentence, Yerim understood what he meant immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She had repeated again and again, because she knew what it was like for Jongin.

 

Anything related to Kyungsoo to akin rubbing salt on a deep incision cut so cleanly that refused to close entirely or picking out a scab over and over again just to watch it bleed without control.

 

But Jongin had merely gotten up from the chair to hug the younger girl. “I’m not mad, I understand.” He murmured into Yerim’s hair, before letting her go. He was mad, but he knew it was just his reaction to the sting of betratyal. Jongin knew it would dissipate soon.

 

When he felt the brief vibration of the phone in his pocket, he had bid both girls goodbye without turning back at them. Once he was back in his father’s car and on the way to pick his mother up from a tutoring session, his father didn’t comment on his sullen appearance.

 

Jongin decided to ask his father something he had meaning to ask for years when they stopped at a red light. “Dad, did you know about Kyungsoo and I? Prior to the accident I mean?” He asked calmly, but his eyes never strayed from watching the streetlights behind them.

 

His father reached out to turn the radio off, but he nods just as Jongin turned to face him. Jongin reciprocated the nod with a one of his own. “Remember the time Noel and I picked you up really late from school because we were assigned on field that morning?”

 

Jongin let out a short hum to say he was listening. “He noticed it first. The way your eyes followed Kyungsoo wherever he moved, and the way he would choose to sit next to you instead of his team mates during breaks.” His father answered. “I told him he was just probably your friend, but I saw you two holding hands before I called you.”

 

Fear crept into Jongin’s mind, his blood growing cold, but he willed himself to get through this. “Are you mad at me?”

 

“I was, because you hid it from your mother and I.” His father replied, his tone level as he made a sharp turn. Jongin asked him one last question. “Are you mad because I’m not straight?” He said, his tone bordering on sharp disobedience and quiet reluctance.

 

“No.” His dad answered again at another red light. “I thought I would be, but I’m not. You’ve made me the proudest father in the world, why would I let your preference get between us?” He reached out, smoothing Jongin’s hair like he always did when in Jongin’s childhood.

 

Jongin smiled, albeit small. “Thanks dad.” He murmured quietly, to which his dad only grunted. “That boy made you happy, and from the people that vouched for him, he seemed like a good person too. I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

 

It was the first time his dad had ever addressed that topic with him, and Jongin felt freed from another mind prison. His hand pulled out the picture from his hidden pocket, the same one Sunhee had showed him and had firmly pressed to keep it for himself just a few minutes before Hyanggi entered the room. ‘ _That one is yours to keep.’_

 

Jongin remembered the stolen dance he and Kyungsoo had in the hotel bathroom their school prom was being held at, him laughing into Kyungsoo’s shoulder as they had swayed to the muffled music booming in the ballroom and the sound of Kyungsoo’s hushed promises in the bathroom that smelt highly of lavender.

 

The promises that had already been long broken and had no binding power to them whatsoever, but Jongin’s half a decade deep nostalgia and melancholy.

 

 

[ i.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658259) [ii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658289) [iii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658298) [iv.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658337) [v.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658352) [vi.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658382)

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

It’s hard, to say the least, to seem normal when a life changing truth had been revealed to you, Jongin thought, as he sipped on his coffee as he stared off into space in the early hours of the morning. A day was obviously not enough for everything to sink in.

 

He spent the morning talking to Sehun, who was busy lining in admissions for his request for an overload of units, and the younger’s irritated replies only fueled Jongin’s amusement and the overwhelming desire to tell Sehun ‘ _I told you to do it before Christmas.’_

 

 _“Look, Nini, not everyone can just march up to Dr. Jung to ask him to sign stuff.”_ Sehun snapped, cursing the confused freshman under his breath as they held everybody back. _“Plus, I just managed to convince Atty. Choi to include me in her class. I can only deal with one difficult faculty member in one day.”_

 

Sehun had opted to just message Jongin, instead of voice calling because he was sure the scowl he had on his face just deepened as the minutes passed and the multiple offices he had visited just to get approval signatures for his request.

 

**Oh Sehun**

_I’m done with enrolment_

_Fucking finally_

**Jonathan Kim**

_That’s good_

_I’m just going to print my enrolment certificate when I get back_

 

**Sehun**

_You’re pretty quiet these days_

_You ok?_

 

**Jonathan**

_Yeah_

_Well, as fine as I ever will be rn_

_I have a lot to tell you when I get back, btw._

 

**Sehun**

_Do you want me to pick you up at Incheon?_

_You can just cover my gas money_

 

**Jonathan**

_No shit?_

 

**Sehun**

_If you’re gonna act like that then I’ll just retract my offer_

_Why pique my interest and then leave me hanging_

_What the fuck_

 

**Jonathan**

_Fine, I got your gas money_

_Just wait, I can’t really blurt it out with my parents in the next room_

_Plus, it’s better to say this personally_

_You can wait three days, Sehun._

_But fine I’ll give you a hint_

_I’m finally moving on, and this time I won’t quit cold turkey_

 

**Sehun**

_Just send me your flight deets_

_:/_

_Oh really?_

_Now I’m legit curious_

_Wait my phone’s at 5%_

_G2g_

 

Jongin had eventually ran out of things to do, as his activity for that morning was to nick one of his mother’s picture frames to put Kyungsoo’s and his picture inside. It’s the 16th now, Irene had already sent her goodbyes in the middle of the night, and it was his last complete day in the kingdom and he is completely restless.

 

He had woken up at three in the morning, because his room is now even more sparse than the time he had arrived. He had sealed away his things, stripping it of its lived-in feel as in two days, nobody would use his room for a long, long time.

 

And like the good procrastinator he was, he had chosen to pack at that hour. He had sat on the carpet of his room, rolling his sweaters and jeans into his suitcase. The glass frame was safe under a roll of cable knit sweaters and packed thoroughly with some of his underwear tucked into the spaces.

 

Batman had proved to be the absolute menace when he had found out that Jongin was already packing, nipping at the end of his sweatpants with a small growl when Jongin refused to get up. Pushing the suitcases aside and the pup to his lap, of course, Jongin was very much reluctant to pack.

 

Normally, seeing a line of suitcases by his door made him excited, but it doesn’t this time. It was a slow settling sadness that clung unto him, and it was its inevitability was what made it all the more painful as it settled.

 

He was breaking a piece of himself off that Seoul will never be able to fill. He was aware of the fact that nobody could take the kingdom out of him, but ah, Jongin was human and was just as resistant to change as the rest of the population.

 

The soaring skyscrapers and bustling nightlife could never compare to painting like sunsets and miles and miles of rolling dunes.

 

Jongin had never learnt to adjust to Seoul either; white winters were terrible because he never got used to walking on snow, and god forbid, sleet, and the humid summers were just as terrible, but what choice does he have.

 

That noon, his parents made the best of his last day in the country. They headed to Aziziah, and his mother had reluctantly let go of her irrational fear of Jongin getting on an ATV by himself. The adrenaline pumping through his veins and the wind blowing through his hair as he sped on the sand in the late afternoon sun just made him miss the place before even leaving it.

  
They went out for dinner too, and with some persistent convincing, Jongin had managed to convince his father to let Batman come along, who had whined for Jongin’s attention all day. He knew it was just the pup’s way of convincing Jongin not to leave, but he had no say in the matter.

 

Batman had spent the evening curiously sniffing at some little kid in a stroller in the park Jongin walked him at, which eventually led to him nicking the little sock off the toddler’s foot, much to his horror. A few apologies, a returned sock and some grins riddled with unbridled delight from the child’s parents, Batman was fast asleep in Jongin’s lap back in the car.

 

As they passed through the new roads lined along the sea side, the city lights shining off of Jongin’s glasses made him feel a little burst of pride. In a way, the country had grown up along him, and now that he was older, he had to move away to make a life for himself somewhere else.

 

\--

 

The ride to the airport was a silent one.

 

Jongin picked at the skin of his thumb constantly, clenching his hands tightly as the marble building came into view once again, and hopefully not for the last time.

 

His mother fussed with him and everything, checking if he had all the necessary documents or if he left anything at home before he checked his luggage in. She double checked—hell, even triple checked—his passport and boarding pass, reminding him of his boarding gate in Hong Kong.

 

Before he headed to immigration, his parents wrapped him up in a tight hug, murmuring prayers of safe travel as his mother held his cheeks. Jongin allowed himself one last glance to his parents at the gate, seeing his father waving at him, and his mother holding back tears as she clung onto his arm.

 

Ah, there were the waterworks, he remarked as he hastily wiped at his face. The woman standing behind him in line offered him a pack of tissues, which he gratefully accepted with a bow. “You don’t look happy to be going home.” She joked, to which Jongin shook his head. “My parents are still working here.”

 

The woman’s eyes suddenly understood, smiling at him wordlessly.

 

Of course, Jongin had never been in an uneventful flight. The six-hour flight to Hong Kong was a painful and restless one with the wailing child a few rows back. When the plane had landed in HKIA, the long walk to the boarding gate for his connecting flight to Incheon was a welcome mercy.

 

The walk had taken quite the time, but Jongin chose to pace himself in the quiet serenity of the airport at four in the morning. He even allowed himself to stop by the sole coffee shop open at that hour to get something to eat, because his gate was just two gates away too.

 

A few swipes of his card and a murmur of thanks later, Jongin had finally had a moment of peace as he down the seats lined up by his boarding gate, the metal creaking softly beneath him. After gathering his thoughts, Jongin had finally let himself sag against the chair and breathed.

 

Deep and slow.

 

 And another.

 

He pulled out a journal he had stuffed into his carry on at the last minute and wrote and hoped.

 

Wrote about all the things unsaid, all the pages left unturned, and all the chapters left abruptly unfinished. He hoped with every stroke of his pen, with every streak of ink across the egg shell white of the page, he wrote and hoped despite the persisting ache in his wrist.

 

Hoped that it could make up for all the last time he had stayed angry and blaming Kyungsoo for everything that had happened to them in the past.

 

Jongin hoped Kyungsoo would forgive him for all the bullshit he had pulled after their breakup—all the mean messages and prank calls from his friends—after they had messily broken up and hoped that his words and memories of the elder he had left would be enough to immortalize him.

 

As a practiced voice floated through the PA system in the quiet halls of the airport in the wee hours of the morning, accompanied by the clicking heels of a team of flight attendants rushing to another terminal, Jongin knew it wasn’t.

 

If love was enough to keep Kyungsoo alive, then the abundance of it would keep him alive until his next life time.

 

Jongin could paint Kyungsoo in any medium—acrylic, graphite, ink—and come out with something eerily similar to Kyungsoo, but it would lack a vital part that he could never out his finger on at all.

 

He could paint the lines of Kyungsoo’s upper lip and capture the pinkness of it from the excessive lip balm he used.

 

He could connect the smattering of moles the elder boy had across his skin—on the line of his jaw, down to his nape and even the one in his waterline—like a constellation of stars he had discovered and plotted himself into the sky and copy the likeness of the harsh line of his thick brows when he was deep in thought blindfolded.

 

But beyond that, Jongin doesn’t remember much of Kyungsoo anymore.

 

He doesn’t remember the deep timbre of his voice that started each and every one of his chuckles before they got higher in pitch as he threw his head back in glee.

 

—Doesn’t remember the way his eyes dimmed whenever storms brewed in them.

 

—Doesn’t remember the feel of his skin against Jongin’s, the dryness of his palms from the chalk they used in pep training pressing against Jongin’s clammy ones, or the warm of their intertwined fingers.

 

He almost felt disappointed that he couldn’t remember the name of the strong perfume mingling with the fabric conditioner his mother used on all his clothes, especially on that olive-green sweater the elder always lent him.

 

It felt weird to remember a scent so distinctly, but Kyungsoo gave his hugs and offered the security of this arms to Jongin way too often, and Jongin, at sixteen and in the middle of realizing truths about himself, needed a shoulder he could just cry on.

 

Jongin lamented forgetting the feel of Kyungsoo’s lips, the artificial tang of his strawberry chap stick on his tongue and Kyungsoo’s breath on his cheek when they kissed for the first and last time when Jongin’s fell off its axis in that deserted hall.

 

He should remember the way Kyungsoo’s lower lip trembled as he quietly listened to his ramblings about what could happen between them, but he doesn’t.

 

Perhaps that was the reason his anger had turned into grief, which had finally morphed into frustration from the lack of closure when it had subsided or pushed down deep enough through years of academic induced stress and overall attempts to move on.

 

Jongin closed the journal for a bit and double checked the time of arrival of the plane, taking the time to stretch as well.

 

He had spent about two hours of his five-hour layover in Hong Kong scribbling in his journal, and he was happy the person sitting beside him didn’t get overly irritated at the shaking of Jongin’s leg, choosing to sit somewhere else as Jongin merely offered him an apologetic grin in response.

 

After signing his name in the bottom of the page, he tucked the pen between the spine of the notebook, stuffing it back his bag and stared at the digital display of all the scheduled flights in the middle of the gate. Tucking his knees to his chest, he let out a sigh from the depths of his chest, so deep it rattled his ribs.

 

In a couple of hours, he’d be back in Seoul, and back to the daily struggle to get his degree, but least now, moving on wasn’t one of his troubles anymore. He could finally move on after finally getting the chance to properly grieve for a love he lost four years ago.

 

But if there was one thing Jongin had learnt out of his short-lived love with Kyungsoo, it was what love had the ability to fill you up with so much joy that it made you sing old songs from the fifties with flailing limbs and socked feet slipping across tiled floors in the last hours of the morning.

 

Kyungsoo made him feel that during a time in his life; for their love had been borne during the fall. As leaves tinged with yellow fell off winding branches, Jongin fell for Kyungsoo like a sack of bricks oh so quickly that it made Jongin’s cheeks sear with the remnants of the summer heat.

 

He fell for Kyungsoo on the early days of October 2012, through his deep laughter, strong will and terrible food puns in all their video calls they had during weekends after the younger’s trainings, where Jongin would always laugh as how Kyungsoo failed to control all the children he and his mother babysat.

 

When he lost that love through bland, almost apathetic text messages and hard flung insults fueled by the sting of betrayal and broken promises, and Kyungsoo’s passing after half a year, it made him feel like a sailor’s wife staring at a brewing storm—all looming clouds and rolling thunder—ready to swallow the horizon with its dark waves.

 

He watched the navy-blue sky grow tinged with pale pinks and corals as the weak rays of early sunlight permeated through the thick clouds. Jongin had to let go of Kyungsoo, because all he had to remember him was a handful of memories—both good and bad—and a fuckton of questions.

 

Jongin was well aware that he sounded like a broken record right now, but the reason he couldn’t fully grieve over him was he didn’t even know what his place was in Kyungsoo’s life back then. His mother said he loved Jongin, but to what extent?

 

Was he someone he merely developed superficial feelings for, or was it enough to maintain a relationship?

 

He remembered the powder green gowns and the source of the liberating truth which was Kyungsoo’s mother saying that yes, Kyungsoo loved you back—a persistent thought in his mind reminded him that perhaps, Kyungsoo loved him more that Jongin ever did—but only Kyungsoo can answer that.

 

Jongin knew Kyungsoo, and he loved him. Kyungsoo was dead and yet, Jongin was still struggling to discover some things. Sixteen-year-old Jongin would’ve cringed at twenty-one-year old Jongin’s straightforwardness, but what use was beating around the bush if he was going to die in a couple of decades anyway?

 

And what good did beating around the bush and biting his tongue do the first time?

 

Jongin doesn’t even think he really, truly remembers the chime of Kyungsoo’s laughter, the way his eyes crinkled at the sides during the stolen dance at their junior prom, or the ugly splotching of his cheeks when he tried to control his tears while Jongin sobbed in his arms when he had told him things would soon change between them.

 

The younger didn’t certainly account for Kyungsoo to change too.

 

He doesn’t remember the husky baritone of his voice in their last video call when he had promised Jongin he wouldn’t let go and do everything in his power to keep their relationship afloat.

 

_“Flight CV 876 bound for Incheon Airport is now boarding.”_

 

Jongin stood up and slipped his beanie back onto his unruly head of head of hair again, pulling his carry on behind him as he walked to the line. Despite everything, he wasn’t going to forget about everything and leave it behind.

 

He was going to keep Kyungsoo alive in his head and heart and in the way,  he lived his life now; keep the little fragments of Kyungsoo he had alive until his last breath.

 

Perhaps in another life, Kyungsoo hadn’t died and they had merely broken up. Maybe Kyungsoo continued his streak of good grades, and through sheer will and bravado, got into the research-oriented university Jongin had gotten in.

 

In another life, he would’ve bumped into Jongin while they took the entrance exams and talked after it.

 

In another life, Kyungsoo would visit his family back in Dammam and stay the filial and loving son he always was, surrounded by his friends and filled with lively banter. Jongin would probably still avoid him if they came across each other in a hallway.

 

In another life, Jongin would look up to see Kyungsoo preoccupied with a game on his phone, sitting across the same boarding gate in between the borders of Saudi Arabia and South Korea.

 

Maybe in that life, Kyungsoo would break the stare with a smile, and Jongin would’ve have the balls to talk and make things right—to settle their differences, or even, try again. Maybe in that life, things would go better and Kyungsoo would merely take his hand into his without a word and open his arms for Jongin once more.

 

Kyungsoo would realize his unfulfilled potential, and Jongin—well, Jongin would still have Kyungsoo by his side.

 

They’d graduate together and—

 

And—

 

Jongin doesn’t know anymore. He had only thought of all the wasted possibilities until that point in time, and there was no use in dreaming of a life so farfetched.

 

As he sat down, he stared at the now brighter skies of a cold snowy morning in Hong Kong through the window beside his seat, Jongin suddenly felt himself bobbing in the surface of his ocean of thoughts and possibilities, the heavy anchor chained around his gut had disappeared.

 

The engine revved up under his feet, and Jongin couldn’t help being optimistic, even for just a few seconds. Things would be better now, he thought, as he mulled over the happenings in the past month and a half. This time he would make all the missing links for himself, so he wouldn’t seem so helpess anymore.

 

Jongin mentally raised a toast to himself with his overpriced bottle of water; to whatever the hell he was in this small world, to whatever he was trying to be, and to whatever he may become.

 

 

[ i.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658259) [ii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658289) [iii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658298) [iv.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658337) [v.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658352) [vi.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658382)

 


	6. post script

 

_January 18, 2018_

_I don’t want to forget, I mutter to myself as during my near twelve-hour travel back to Korea, and my false normalcy there._

_I’m really dizzy, both from the lack of sleep and nausea from being unable to deal with the emotions churning in the pit of my stomach, but I can’t sleep. I can’t find anything to do to kill time in the remaining hours in the air between borders before I go back to reality._

_Amidst working hard for my degree, slaving during the ungodly hours of the morning fueled by an inhumane amount of caffeine, the state where I have strengthened myself as an adult away from my family, supposedly unfazed by the end of my youth with my turning of age._

_I find myself wanting to stop time, even for a little bit. Just to savor that little window of time between my reckless youth and rushed adulthood, the amount of memories it has provided me, or the lack thereof brought about my sheltered habits as a teen as I rapidly pass through the units of my college curriculum._

_Here, between the borders of my youth and adulthood, between Dammam and Seoul, I blearily remember the simpler version of myself without the sharper jut of my jaw and ganglier limbs from four years ago._

_I’m still not that different from back then. I’m still gullible to a point, still easy to rouse the bubbling anger under my skin, still unable to push thoughts into words on my tongue, still keep the lid tight on the bottle containing all my feelings._

_I’ve noticed it, not a stark difference, but it is there._

_I’m more patient, I ponder more on my thoughts and choose my words a little better._

_Though in spite of these changes, I find myself wanting to stay in the grey area I have always despised, where I am both the person I was, and the one I am now._

_But of course, I am still very attached to the past. Back when times were much simpler, when all I thought about was getting rid of acne, how to jack off and destroy any traces of it before god forbid—my mother saw it and how to eat properly with my braces newly tinkered with._

_I want to see Kyungsoo again. I want to talk to him, shake him to get some answers. I don’t really want to mess with my spirit world, but Christ, I really miss him._

_Hey, I miss you. I talked to your mom, you know. She’s the only one who could’ve missed you more than I did. You were so unfair, why can’t you just appear in front of me? Haha, shit. What if he really does appear? I’d look fucking insane if I just suddenly talked to thin air. But okay, just appear please, and then let’s talk._

_Let’s fix the things we left untouched back then._

_Let’s fix this, what was supposed to be us. But we can’t anymore, you can’t do that for me anymore because you’re gone._

_Even though, I won’t forget you. Every time I go home, I remember you. In the middle of my sleepless nights, you always come to linger in my thoughts._

_You know, what if you were still here? What if we made up? What if you still loved me? What if?_

_What if we reached our dreams together? Like graduating university together, go to Everland like we once talked about over lunch and a particularly shitty Trigonometry problem we had for homework. You’d steal my Cheetos, while I stole your hoodies and bring them home, then return them full of Batman’s fur._

_What if you didn’t let go? What if I actually fought for you, for us?_

_What if until now, we could still force each other to watch horror movies even if it just ended with me hiding behind you?_

_What if you still hung around my trainings, what if you noticed that I was showing off by making my shoulders squarer and my kicks higher as I went over and over a demo team piece with my teammates._

_I’d show off to you because I wasn’t like the other people you once loved, or even had a feeling crush on. I’m not like Irene, I’m not innately talented or was I artistic. All I’ve known my entire life was studying and this sport._

_But thanks, because even if you couldn’t watch my competitions or matches, you were still greatly supportive. You always cheered me on, even if it was just a text, wishing me luck in all my matches and to be careful not to get too hurt._

_You were happy for me, because even if I won or lost, what mattered was I played fair._

_Of course, I’d get mad, and tell you that that match in Riyadh wasn’t supposed to be a sudden death. That loss was a big blow to my pride, to say the least, and to top it off, I came home with an injured ankle and a scar on my cheek._

_My god, my ears almost fell off that morning when you saw me coming to class in crutches and mismatched shoes with a thick bandage around my ankle. You had gone on and on about why I was so careless, and a silver was as good as gold if I had come home unscathed._

_Well, what was I to do? Your boyfriend had the angry streak, nor was I a gracious loser back then._

_I got to thinking, what if I was still the one wiping your tears away when your happy façade cracked, and you couldn’t be the strong one between us anymore, because you weren’t sure if you could reach all the expectations you had held up for yourself, so that you could help your family as the eldest son._

_What if I was still the one holding your hand while you cried on my shoulder, because I had no idea how to console you, because my own insecurities ran as deep as yours truly did._

_I wish I was still the one you unrooted and bared all your fears and insecurities  to. I could only wish I was just good enough boyfriend to you in the time we were together._

_Oh my god, what if you were still so goddamned bad with surprises because Hyanggi had the tendency to run his mouth when she got terribly excited._

_What if we went back to simpler times, when I would read, and you’d fidget with my hair while we sat in contented silence?_

_What if the last time we saw each other, I told you that I loved you so much, even though I was afraid to even look you in the eye back then. What if I told you that I really had no idea how much I really loved you?_

_If I had the balls to tell you that I loved you back, to whisper all my fears to you in the stolen dance we had in the hotel bathroom, you would still be mine. We could’ve saved ourselves from this heartache._

_Maybe then, I could justify the grief that came crashing down at me when the news told me you were gone, because I didn’t know my place in your life and I didn’t know if I had the right to even mourn and cry for you publicly, instead of doing it in the dead of night or hiding in a bathroom stall._

_Maybe, I could’ve prevented it somehow. All the pain we went through, and all the dumb shit I put you through in my anger._

_Maybe you’d still be here._

_We’d paint the streets of Seoul red, curse all your engineering subjects and all my law readings to hell and back as he drank ourselves stupid after exams. I’d make you run after me, because you had a Math exam and I had accidentally packed your calculator in my bag, and I’d find you pacing in front of my Greek Philosophy classes, near in tears because—I need my calculator, Jongin!_

_What if it was really like that?_

_What if we really fought for this?_

_What if you got out that fire?_

_We’d probably be so happy, despite my temper, despite your complacent tendencies, despite all the misunderstandings and fights that were inevitable between us._

_Would you be happy with me though? Like I was with you._

_I don’t know._

_I don’t know the answers to all my questions, and my what ifs._

_I don’t know how to answer them without you in the equation._

_I don’t feel the pain—the gut wrenching grief—anymore, but that’s what scares me the most. I’m scared that one day, I’d stop feeling that dull ache, the sting from your depart._

_I’m scared, because with how I’ve come to live with the dull ache and stinging pain—with the thought that I’d never, in a million years, see you again—that I’ll forget you someday. I don’t want to let you go._

_Goddammit, I don’t even know where you were buried._

_I’m so scared, because I might just wake up one morning, not remembering all the joys and pains we went through. I know I’m just repeating myself again and again, but I’m so afraid of forgetting you, because I feel like I’m going to disappoint you all over again._

_You’ve been gone for four years now, Kyungsoo._

_Four years since I’ve realized that I was still terribly and stupidly in love with you, or the idea of you that I still remember vaguely. I don’t know what to do with myself sometimes._

_I can’t promise that’d ever move on from you or become the person you had thought I was or could be, but there’s one thing I can promise you. I won’t forget you. I will immortalize you in ink, Kyungsoo. People may never remember your heart shaped smiles and gentle eyes from memory, but I will help them remember._

_I will build castles and forts with your memories, and all the dreams we could’ve shared. I will make flowers grow in all the ruins in my head, so that you may live through them, and it starts today._

_I will make you live through my words and pages, Kyungsoo, and I hope that’s enough._

_With all the love we had, and could’ve shared,_

_Jongin._

—Fin—

 

_For S, as I have left my heart with you five years ago, and for more years to come._

Addendum: Translations of mentioned Filipino Words:

  * Kumusta: How are you?
  * Tito: Uncle, not necessarily a blood relative
  * Tita: Auntie, not necessarily a blood relative
  * Kuya: Big brother, a unisex honorific akin to oppa or hyung



 

 

[ i.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658259) [ii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658289) [iii.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658298) [iv.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658337) [v.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658352) [vi.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13773978/chapters/31658382)

 

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author's note:** To my beta, D, you are a true godsend, with how you make sense of my gibberish most of the time. our communication methods may be considered a tad star crossed, but thank you, for all the efforts. 
> 
> To those who were patient enough to answer my queries regarding the writing process of this fic, your contributions are greatly appreciated. To A, T, and C, thank you for being such great hype men and emotional support. Writing is never a one-man sport with your encouragements. 
> 
> To S, I write to keep you alive.


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